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BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDEE. 


TALES  AND  SKETCHES. 


WITH  A  NOTICE  OF  THE  LIFE  AND  LITEEARY  CHARACTER 


EMILE   SOUVESTRE. 


NEW  YORK:   DIX,   EDWARDS   &  CO. 

LONDON  :    HAMILTON,  ADAMS  4  CO. 
EDINBURO :   THOMAS  CONSTABLE  i  CO. 

MDCcri.vii. 


P 


MlLLEK   &.   HOLMAN, 

Printers,  New  York. 


CONTENTS. 


PARI 

BlOGBAPHlCAL  XoTICE  OF  EjIlLE  SoUVESTRE, 

T 

The  Baboemah  op  the  Loire,        ... 

1 

The  Lazaretto-Keeper,     .... 

.      61 

The  Kourigax,        .            .            .            .            . 

.    117 

The  White  Boat,   .... 

.    158 

The  Treasure-Seeker,       .... 

.    185 

The  Groach  and  the  Kakocs, 

.    207 

The  Chouans,          ..... 

.    225 

The  Virgin's  God-Child,    .... 

.    269 

BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICE  OF  EMILE  SOUVESTRE. 


Thou  thy  worldly  task  hast  done. 
Home  art  gone,  and  taken  thy  wages. 

In  one  of  the  indentations  of  that  western  coast  of  France 
from  which  Finistere  looks  out  on  the  Land's  End,  and  whence 
the  Breton  sailor  crosses  to  the  Welsh,  if  not  the  Cornish 
shore,  to  find  men  of  his  own  Celtic  blood,  and  still  able  to 
parley  with  him  in  his  own  Celtic  tongue,  lie  the  little 
port  and  town  of  Morlaix.  A  romantic  valley,  with  two 
mountain  streams,  is  entered  by  the  tidal  creek  on  the  waters 
of  which  sleep  numerous  coasting-vessels  with  their  ruddy 
sails ;  around  is  grouped  a  double  row  of  houses,  projecting 
on  grotesquely-carved  posts  and  brackets  over  footways  peopled 
by  not  less  grotesque  figures  of  men  in  trunk-hose,  broad- 
brimmed  penthouse  hats,  and  shaggy,  mane-like  locks — and 
of  women  in  their  sombre  nun- like  garb  of  black  and  white, 
or  in  the  blue  dress  which  tells  that  the  widow's  thoughts 
and  hopes  are  turned  to  heaven ;  while  steep  rocks  and  woody 


VI  BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICE  OF 

hills  crowned  with  gardens  rise  close  behind.  The  "  Saxons' 
Fountain  "  still  marks  the  spot  where  the  men  of  Morlaix 
made  the  forces  of  the  Earl  of  Surrey  pay  dearly  for  the 
pillage,  fire,  and  slaughter  with  which  they  had  visited  the 
town  and  its  "  right  fair  castles,  goodly  houses,  and  proper 
piles,"  according  to  the  oflBcial  report  to  Henry  VIII.  More 
dreamlike  traditions  of  King  Arthur  and  the  Knights  of  the 
Kound  Table  hover  over  this  land,  which  still  shows  the  ruin 
of  the  Castle  of  the  Joyeuse  Garde ;  and  the  earnest  faith  of 
the  Breton  Catholic  is  still  strangely  modified,  not  merely  by 
the  beliefs,  but  even  by  the  rites  of  the  Druids.  In  this  not 
unfitting  home  for  the  painter  of  nature,  men,  and  manners, 
Emile  Souvestre  was  born,  on  the  15th  of  April  1806.  His 
father  was  an  engineer  ofBcer,  whose  narrow  escape  when  the 
town  of  Chateaulaudrin  was  overwhelmed  by  the  bursting 
out  of  the  neighbouring  lake,  and  his  return  from  his  official 
duty  to  find  the  corpse  of  his  intended  bride,  in  her  ball-dress, 
still  wearing  the  flower  he  had  given  her  at  parting,  and  with 
her  hand  still  joined  with  that  of  a  partner  in  the  dance,  are 
so  graphically  related  by  his  son  in  Les  Derniers  Bretons. 
He  had  charge  of  the  roads  and  bridges  of  the  district ;  and, 
apparently  with  a  view  to  educate  the  young  Emile  for  the 
like  employment,  he  sent  him  to  the  partly  military  and  partly 
scientific  college  of  Pontivy,  where  he  remained  till  about  the 
age  of  seventeen,  not  without  showing  some  turn  for  mathe- 
matics. But  then  the  father's  death,  and  his  mother's  earnest 
wish  that  he  should  choose  his  future  profession  for  himself, 
decided  him  to  prefer  the  bar,  as  less  remote  from  the  pursuit 
of  letters  and  philosophy,  and  perhaps  as  being  at  that  mo- 


^MILE  SOUVESTRE.  vii 

ment  illustrious  in  its  examples  of  patriotism  and  inde- 
pendence. He  therefore  entered  on  a  course  of  legal  study  at 
Hennes,  followed  by  another  in  Paris,  with  which  latter  he 
combined  regular  attendance  on  medical  and  other  lectures : 
his  habits  were  methodical  and  persevering,  and  resulted  in 
the  acquisition  of  stores  of  knowledge,  as  solid  as  they  were 
extensive. 

The  poetic  genius,  which  was  afterward  to  produce  so  much 
and  such  ripe  fruit,  was  already  quickened  in  the  breast  of 
the  student.  He  tells  us  that  he  arrived  in  Paris  in  the  year 
1826,  with  all  the  self-importance,  pride,  and  hopes,  but  with 
all  the  awkwardness  and  painful  sensibility  of  the  youth 
whose  knowledge  of  the  world  has  been  limited  to  a  reverent 
contemplation  of  his  professor  in  his  chair  and  his  mother 
knitting  stockings,  but  who  has  obtained  the  gold  medal,  and 
the  prize  for  the  best  oration,  at  the  college  of  his  native  pro- 
vince :  his  bachelor's  diploma  was  in  his  trunk,  a  tragedy  in 
liis  pocket,  and  his  heart  glowing  in  full  faith  that  the  life  of 
the  man  of  letters  was  the  noblest  and  fairest  under  the  sun. 
But  liis  bright  dreams  were  speedily  disturbed.  France  was 
then  full  of  enthusiasm  for  the  liberation  of  Greece ;  yet  the 
three  copies  of  Souvestre's  Siege  of  Missolongid,  duly  for- 
warded to  as  many  theatres,  remained  wholly  unnoticed,  till 
he  ventured  on  asking,  and  readily  obtained,  the  help  of  M. 
Alexandre  Duval,  a  fellow- Breton,  and  whose  own  success  on 
the  stage  had  given  him  a  powerful  voice  at  the  Theatre 
Fran9ais.  The  tragedy  was  now  read,  and  accepted  with 
acclamation.  But  the  Government  censors  next  intervened  ; 
and  when  they  bad  cut  it  down  to  the  degree  that  respect  for 


vm  BioanAPHicAL  notice  of 

the  Sublime  Porte  and  for  absolute  government  in  general 
demanded,  the  managers  of  the  theatre  relaxed,  or  changed 
their  favourable  disposition ;  and  the  author,  worn  out  Avith 
the  proceedings,  withdrew  the  piece  in  a  disgust  which  for  a 
time  extended  itself  to  all  his  literi^ry  aspirations — nay,  to 
life  itself,  though,  happily  for  him  (he  observes),  suicide  was 
not  at  that  time  a  fashion,  and  he  did  not  know  that  it  was 
one  way  of  finding  a  publisher.  Ten  years  afterwards,  he 
could  narrate  these  youthful  experiences  with  a  smile ;  but 
they  were  not  the  less  real  and  painful  at  the  time.  But  a 
severe  discipline  of  another  kind  was  at  hand,  to  transform 
the  dreaming  youth  into  the  earnest  man.  His  elder  brother, 
the  captain  of  a  merchantman  in  which  their  whole  property 
was  ventured,  was  lost  at  sea ;  the  family  was  ruined ;  and 
Emile  was  the  sole  remaining  support  of  his  mother  and  his 
brother's  widow.  He  left  Paris  immediately  for  home,  and 
there  sought  for  some  employment,  no  matter  what,  which 
would  yield  the  means  of  subsistence  for  them.  He  was 
offered  and  accepted  the  place  of  shopman  to  M.  Mellinet,  a 
Nantes  bookseller ;  and  behind  his  counter  he  took  his  stand, 
without  hesitation  or  delay. 

The  courage  of  the  young  Souvestre  did  not  fail  under  the 
humble  tasks  to  which  he  had  thus  engaged  himself;  and  he 
employed  his  leisure  hours  in  writing  verse  or  prose  for  the 
Nantes  and  Ecnnes  periodicals,  and  occasionally  was  able  to 
make  an  excursion  into  some  part  of  his  favourite  Brittany, 
of  which  he  now  began  to  collect  the  traditions  and  other 
records.  Meanwhile,  the  worthy  bookseller,  like  all  who 
came  in  contact  with  his  shopman,  saw  more  and  more  of 


^mile'  souvlstre.  ix 

that  intellectual  and  moral  superiority,  which  showed  itself, 
whether  its  possessor  would  or  no,  in  the  commonest  conver- 
sation ;  and  he  became  the  object  of  especial  interest  to  one 
of  the  frequenters  of  M.  Mellinet's  shop,  who  was  a  philan- 
thropist and  a  man  of  wealth. 

This  was  M.  Luminals,  a  deputy,  and  one  of  the  most 
zealous  of  a  number  of  persons  who,  at  that  period,  were 
interesting  themselves  in  the  reform  of  the  existing  methods 
of  their  national  education,  which  they  aspired  to  make  more 
deeply  and  practically  moral,  and  thus  to  strengthen  in  the 
rising  generation  the  disposition  to  prize  and  honour  the 
name  and  institutions  of  their  country,  and  the  will  and 
power  to  use  their  liberties  aright.  M.  Luminals  resolved  to 
found  a  school  at  Nantes  on  a  new  plan,  and  he  intrusted 
the  charge  of  it  to  Emile  Souvestre,  associating  with  him 
another  youthful  philanthropist,  M.  Papot ;  and  their  success 
was  such  that  Souvestre  was  soon  able  to  marry  without  im- 
prudence. This  union,  promising  in  itself,  and  from  the 
character  of  the  man  by  whom  the  sanctity,  the  repose,  and 
the  sympathies  of  domestic  life  were  prized  in  no  ordinary 
degree,  was  terminated  in  less  than  a  year  by  the  death  of 
his  wife  and  unborn  infant ;  but  they  who  knew  him  best  say 
that  this  heavy  trial  did  but  prove  the  impossibility  of  his 
continuing  to  live  without  a  renewal  of  the  support  he  was 
thus  deprived  of.  And  this  he  subsequently  found  in  the 
sister  of  his  friend  and  associate,  who,  with  her  three  daughters, 
lives  to  mourn  their  iireparable  loss. 

Experience  showed  that  the  new  scheme  of  education  was 
likely  to  be  carried  on  more  efficiently  under  a  single  head. 


X  BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICE  OF 

and  Eraile  Souvestre,  resigning  Lis  share  of  the  work  to 
M.  Papot,  withdrew  with  his  wife  to  Morlaix,  to  be  near  his 
mother ;  but  on  her  death,  shortly  after,  he  went  to  Brest, 
where  he  was  first  the  editor  of  a  newspaper,  Le  Finistere, 
and  then  Professor  of  Ehetoric  in  a  college  newly  founded  in 
that  place,  as  well  as  a  Avriter  in  the  Paris  Temps.  During 
this  period  he  finished  the  work  which,  on  its  publication  in 
1836,  under  the  title  o?  Les  Derniers  Bretons,  at  once  esta- 
blished his  reputation  in  France.  It  is  a  description  of  the 
country,  manners,  customs,  and  literature  of  Brittany,  in 
which  intimate  personal  acquaintance  with,  and  hearty  love 
of  the  subject  are  united  with  that  peculiar  power  of  painting 
nature  and  man  which  characterizes  the  simplest  of  Souvestre's 
writings;  and  the  book  is  fiill  of  charm  and  interest  even  to 
the  foreigner,  who  can  easily  believe  that  the  French  consider 
it  of  quite  classical  worth  in  their  literature. 

The  tenor  of  Souvestre's  life,  in  which  he  was  now  enjoying 
something  of  intercourse  with  the  literary  world  of  Paris  amid 
the  tranquillity  of  a  home  in  his  native  province,  was  now 
interrupted  by  the  failure  of  his  health.  It  was  supposed 
that  he  would  benefit  by  exchanging  the  damp  coast  for  a 
mountain  climate,  and  his  friends  obtained  for  him  the  Chair 
of  Rhetoric  at  Muhlhausen.  But  tlie  breezes  of  the  Vosges 
proved  no  more  invigorating  than  those  of  the  Atlantic  ;  and 
he  then  resolved  not  to  waste  his  life  in  wandering  in  search 
of  health  from  place  to  place,  and  from  profession  to  profession, 
with  his  young  family,  but  to  settle  at  once  in  Paris,  and  there 
devote  himself  entirely  to  literature.  There  he  took  up  his 
abode  in  the  autumn  of  1836,  on  a  fourth  story  (each  story 


fMILE  SOUVESTRE.  xi 

being  a  distinct  dv.'elling)  in  the  suburb  named  Poissonniere, 
from  the  windows  of  which  he  looked  out — like  the  elder  Eemi 
of  his  own  tale — over  the  gardens  below,  and  in  which  he 
worked  for  the  remaining  eighteen  years  of  his  noble  and 
useful  life.  How  steadily  and  laboriously  he  worked,  the  very 
list  of  his  books,  extending  to  near  seventy  volumes,  may 
testify :  and  the  manly  independence  and  self-respect  of  this 
his  literary  life,  may  be  illustrated  by  the  little  fact  that 
nothing  could  induce  him  to  share  the  payment  for  the  Eng- 
lish translation  of  those  of  his  works  over  which  he  found 
he  had  retained  no  legal  power,  while  he  thus  justified,  with 
no  less  dignity  than  grace,  his  reference  to  the  subject  at 
all : — "  Je  vous  demande  pardon,  Madame,  d'entrer .  dans  ces 
details.  II  y  a  malheureusement  deux  hommes  dans  I'ecrivain 
qui  vit  de  son  travail,  Vauteur  et  I'homme  d'affaires:  celui- 
ci  est  forcement  moins  poetique  que  I'autre  ;  il  est  oblige  de 
veiller  aux  intergts  positifs  d'une  maniere  souvent  penible, 
mais,  en  revanche,  c'est  lui  qui  garantit  I'independance  et  la 
dignite  de  Vauteur.  Depuis  que  I'homme  de  lettres  se  nourrit 
des  produits  de  sa  plume,  il  ne  re9oit  plus  le  pain  des  sinecures, 
de  la  cour,  ou  des  grands  seigneurs  ;  son  ceuvre  le  fait  vivre ; 
c'est  un  compensation  aux  details  prosaiques  dans  lesquels  il 
doit  qi;elquefois  descendre."* 

•  "  I  ask  pardon,  Madam,  for  entering  into  these  details.  There  are  unfortunately 
two  persons  in  the  writer  who  lives  by  his  work — the  author,  and  the  man  of  business; 
and  the  latter  is  of  necessity  less  poetical  than  the  other,  being  obliged  to  look  to  material 
interests  in  a  manner  which  is  often  painful,  but  which,  on  the  other  hand,  secures  the 
independence  of  the  author.  Since  the  man  of  letters  has  taken  to  maintaining  himself 
by  his  pen,  he  feeds  no  longer  on  the  doles  of  the  court  or  of  great  lords ;  he  lives  by  his 
own  woik.  and  thus  finds  compcneation  for  being  at  timcB  compelled  to  enter  inioprotaio 
details  of  business." 


XU  BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICK  OF 

Many  of  our  author's  works — among  which  may  be  men- 
tioned Le  PJiilosophe  sous  les  Toils,  which  received  the  crown  of 
the  Academic  Fran9aise,  and  Le  Memorial  de  Famille,  giving 
his  ideal  of  married,  as  the  other  of  unmarried  life,  and  with 
which  La  Derniere  Etape,  of  widowhood  and  old  age,  was 
completing  the  series  when  he  was  called  on  his  own  last 
journey — first  appeared  in  the  pages  of  the  Magasin  Pittoresque, 
a  monthly  illustrated  periodical,  with  the  management  of 
which  he  had  been  connected  from  its  commencement  in  1830, 
and  the  didactic  character  of  which  was  in  harmony  with 
that  great  purpose  of  the  moral  and  intellectual  culture  of 
his  countrymen  to  which  his  life  was  devoted.* 

A  new  opening,  and  in  a  form  which  the  bent  of  his  genius 
always  led  him  to  prefer  to  that  of  mere  writing,  was  afforded 
him  in  1848.  M.  Carnot,  who  has  been  misrepresented  and 
calumniated  by  party  ignorance  and  spite,  both  here  and  in 
France,  for  a  passage  in  his  Election  Circular  which,  even 
without  his  subsequent  explanation,  could  have  been  more 
honestly  interpreted  in  a  good  sense,  became  Minister  of  Public 
Instniction  and  Worship ;  .and  he  proceeded  to  organize  a 
scheme  of  education  for  all  classes  of  citizens,  which,  if  we 
may  believe  the  eloquent  historian  of  the  Revolution,  was 
worthy  of  the  man  whom  he  depicts  as  cast  in  the  mould  of  a 
patriot  of  antiquity,  and  pre-eminent  among  his  fellows  for 
religious  philosophy,  philanthropy,  devotion  to  truth,  firmness, 
feeling,  and  moderation.  "He  grouped  around  him,  as  it 
were  in  a  philosophic  and  literary  council,  the  men  whose 

*  The  memoir  which  appeared  in  the  Magasin  Pittoresque  for  December  last  has,  by 
the  desire  of  M.  Souvestre's  family,  been  chiefly— though  not  exclusively — followed  ia 
the  presetit  notice. 


]£mile  souvestre.  xiii 

names  -were  highest  and  purest  in  philosophy  and  political 
literature ;"  and  among  these  was  Emile  Souvestre,  who  was 
appointed  a  lecturer  in  the  school  now  established  for  the 
education  of  those  intended  for  the  civil  service,  and  for  which 
office  his  legal  training  gave  him  a  special  qualification  in 
addition  to  those  which  he  possessed  as  a  man  of  genius, 
patriotism,  and  personal  worth.  His  unpaid  services  were 
about  the  same  time  engaged,  with  those  of  University  pro- 
fessors and  other  eminent  men  of  letters,  by  the  same  Minister, 
for  the  evening  lectures  which  he  established  for  working  men 
and  their  families  in  various  parts  of  Paris.  The  room  in 
which  Souvestre  gave  his  readings  was  crowded  with  an 
attentive  and  interested  audience,  and  at  the  close  of  the 
evening  the  fathers  of  families  gathered  round  the  teacher  to 
ask  his  advice  in  the  choice  of  books  for  their  children  at 
home. 

The  success  of  these  readings  suggested  to  Souvestre  the 
design,  which  he  carried  into  effect  in  the  summer  of  1853, 
and  was  preparing  to  repeat  in  that  of  '54,  of  giving  a 
course  of  public  lectures  in  the  principal  towns  of  Switzerland 
— Geneva,  Lausanne,  Vevey,  and  Chaux-le-Fond.  He  was 
already  known  in  that  country  by  his  books,  several  of  which 
had  been  adopted  by  the  public  schools ;  and  we  need  not  say 
that  to  know  his  writings  was  to  esteem  and  love  the  writer. 
People  hastened  from  all  parts  to  see  and  hear  the  man  him- 
self; and  it  was  often  necessary  for  him  to  repeat  the  same 
lecture  to  two  successive  audiences,  because  one  room  could 
not  hold  them  all  together.  His  friends  say  that  this  was 
certainly  the  happiest  period  of  his  life ;  and  we  venture  to 


xiv  BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICE  OF 

think  tliat  even  tlie  satisfaction  given  him  by  this  enthusiastic 
reception  from  the  whole  educated  people  of  French  Switzer- 
land, may  have  been  heightened  by  the  pleasure  with  which 
he  learnt  about  the  same  time  that  he  was  becoming  better 
known  in  England,  both  by  the  translations*  of  the  Confes- 
sions d'u7i  Ouvrier  and  Le  Philosophe  sous  les  Toils,  and  by 
the  increased  circulation  of  his  original  works,  which  these 
promoted.  He  thus  wrote  in  acknowledging  the  receipt  of 
these  translations — "  Et  maintenant,  Madame,  permettez-moi 
d'ajouter  de  vifs  et  sinceres  remerciments  pour  I'honneur  que 
vous  avez  fait  a  Vauteur  (referring  to  a  passage  quoted  above), 
en  choisissant  son  livre  pour  fetre  traduit  dans  votre  langue  : 
c'est  une  distinction  dont  il  se  tient  fort  touche.  Vouloir  tra- 
duire  une  livre,  c'est  preuver  qu'on  entre  en  sympathie  avec 
celui  qui  I'a  ecrit,  et  qu'on  sent,  qu'on  pense,  comme  lui !  II 
n'est  rien  de  plus  doux  que  ces  adhesions  obtenues  de  loin,  et 
il  y  a  un  charme  particulier  dans  les  amis  inconnus  qui  re- 
pondent  a  votre  coeur  sans  que  vous  ayez  jamais  entendu  leur 
voix."-i-  And  again — "  Je  dois  done  vous  remercier  double- 
ment,  et  de  m'avoir  fait  connaitre  au  public  anglais,  et  de 
m'avoir  presente  sous  un  aspect  si  favorable."  \ 

Yet  after  his  return  to  Paris,  he  seemed  sadder  than  before 

*  Published  in  Longman's  "  Traveller's  Library." 

t  "  And  now.  Madam,  allow  me  to  add  my  most  sincere  thanks  for  the  honour  you 
have  done  the  author  (referring  to  a  passage  quoted  above)  in  choosing  his  book  for  trans, 
lation  into  your  own  language :  it  is  a  distinction  which  he  feels  very  sensibly.  To  resolve 
to  translate  a  book  is  to  give  proof  of  hearty  sympathy  with  the  writer  of  it,  and  of  feel- 
ing and  thinking  like  himself.  Nothing  is  more  gratifying  than  to  receive  such  assurances 
of  sympathy  fi-ora  a  distance ;  and  there  is  a  peculiar  charm  in  the  unknovm  friends 
whose  hearts  answer  to  your  own,  though  you  have  never  heard  their  voice." 

j  "  I  must  thank  you  doubly,  then  : — for  having  introduced  me  to  the  English  public, 
and  for  having  presented  me  in  $o  fovcuxablc  an  asiJCCt." 


£mILE  SOUVESTRE.  XV 

his  visit  to  Switzerland.  He  had  seen  only  the  favourable 
side  of  that  country  ;  and  the  appearances  of  moral  and  reli- 
gious earnestness,  of  general  education,  of  reverence  for  the 
laws,  of  personal  self-respect,  and  freedom  from  the  spirit  of 
ever-scheming  selfishness,  contrasted  painfully  with  what  he 
knew  more  intimately  of  the  condition  of  his  own  people,  and 
stirred  deeply  that  patriotic  grief  for  their  faults  which  the 
reader  of  his  books  knows  so  well,  and  which,  in  Le  Mdt  de 
Cocagne  in  particular,  takes  the  form  of  a  despair  of  all  poli- 
ticians and  political  schemes  of  reform,  which  seems  strange, 
not  to  say  wrong,  to  almost  every  Englishman.  Not,  how- 
ever, that  Souvestre  ever  really  despaired  of  society.  At  the 
conclusion  of  his  latest  Avork,  he  declares  that  now,  indeed,  as 
often  in  past  times,  the  faith  of  mankind  is  reeling  and  totter- 
ing under  the  terrible  weight  of  the  evils  around  them — while 
now,  as  then,  they  desire  that  the  cup  may  pass  from  them  ; 
but  that  to  do  our  duty  thoroughly,  and  with  all  our  powers, 
in  the  work  of  bettering  the  world,  morally  and  materially, 
will  not  be  in  vain,  if  only  our  trust  is  in  Him  whose  pro- 
mises, like  His  eternal  purposes,  can  never  fail,  though  they 
may  be  accomplished  only  through  death. 

The  thought  of  death — of  death  as  the  way  to  resurrection 
and  life — seems  now  to  have  occupied  the  thoughts  of  Sou- 
vestre in  a  degree  which  his  friends  have  since  looked  back 
upon  as  an  anticipation — unexpected  at  the  time — of  his  im- 
pending separation  from  them.  This  sad  and  sudden  event, 
preceded  by  a  short  illness,  of  which  the  serious  character  was 
unexpected  an  hour  before  its  close,  occurred  on  the  5th  of 
July  18o4,  in  his  forty-eighth  year  :  a  life  long  if  we  measure 


XVI  EIoaRAPHICAL  NOTICE  OF 

it  by  all  he  had  done,  and  still  more  had  been  ;  but  short  in- 
deed if  we  remember  what  he  still  hoped  to  do,  and  think  of 
the  loss  of  those  whom  he  has  left  behind. 

The  portraits  of  Emile  Souvestre  show  hun  with  a  high  in- 
tellectual forehead,  an  eye  of  fire,  the  Eoman  nose  which 
marks  the  clear  and  analytic  mind,  and  a  mouth  combining 
firmness  and  dignity  with  that  sweetness  of  expression  which 
was  so  marked  in  his  living  countenance,  that  little  children 
when  they  saw  him,  would  stretch  out  their  hands  to  him. 
His  daily  life — in  his  own  home,  and  among  his  friends — was 
not  less,  but  more  than  his  written  words.  It  might  be  truly 
said  of  him  that — 

"  First  he  wrought,  and  afterwards  he  taught." 

Duty  was  the  principle  of  his  life,  as  it  is  of  his  books:  the 
spirit  in  which  the  youth  had  renounced  the  charms  of  Paris 
society,  and  the  prospects  of  an  honourable  profession,  to  stand 
behind  a  shop-counter  in  Nantes,  because  his  duty  bade  him, 
was  the  spirit  which  to  the  last  shed  its  bright  light  on  the 
home  of  his  wife  and  children,  and  made  every  look  and 
word  an  assurance  to  them  not  less  of  support  and  strength, 
than  of  an  inexhaustible  devotion  and  tenderness ; — for  it 
was  the  spirit  of  duty  as  well  as  afiection,  though  its  sterner 
voice  was  heard  only  by  himself.  This  is  their  own  testi- 
mony, and  not  that  of  a  less  competent  informant. 

In  conversation,  the  powers  of  Souvestre  are  said  to  have 
been  even  more  remarkable  than  in  writing — though  it  is  dif- 
ficult for  those  who  only  know  him  through  his  books  and 
letters  to  feel  that  this  could  be.  But  in  the  one  as  in  the 
other  case,  the  moral  tone  was  ever  predominant,  so  that  it 


£mile  souvestre.  xvii 

has  been  said  of  him  that  if  he  had  been  born  a  French  Pro- 
testant, he  would  have  no  doubt  become  a  pastor,  so  wholly 
was  his  heart  set  upon  the  moral  and  religious  instruction  of 
his  countiymen.  His  genius  was  conservative ;  with  a  true 
faith  in  man's  progress,  and  unaffected  readiness  to  abandon 
the  most  time-honoured  traditions  when  proved  to  be  hostile 
to  that  progress,  he  seems  to  have  looked  rather  to  the  better 
use  of  existing  means  than  to  the  introduction  of  new  ones  for 
effecting  the  great  end  ;  and  those  who  think  that  both  one 
and  the  other  may  be  required,  and  that  new,  as  well  as, 
though  not  instead  of,  the  old  institutions  and  methods  of 
social  organization  are  demanded  by  the  wants  of  our  times, 
will  perhaps  see  in  this  conservative  disposition  of  Souvestre 
some  explanation  of  that  occasional  despondency  of  his  views 
of  society  which  has  been  mentioned.  But  be  this  as  it  may, 
we  repeat  that  duty  was  the  principle  of  his  life,  which  he 
never  ceased  to  believe  in  and  to  teach.  We  English  are  apt 
to  fancy  that  we  care  more  for  duty  than  other  men,  and 
especially  than  our  honour-coveting  neighbours ;  but  as  our 
manufacturers  discovered  at  the  Great  Exhibition  that  it  was 
not  in  artistic  beauty  alone,  but  also  in  work  for  ordinary 
uses,  that  they  were  often  inferior  to  the  French  ;  and  as  our 
soldiers  are  now  confessing  that  it  is  not  only  in  the  mar- 
shalling of  great  armies,  but  much  more  in  the  organization  of 
hospitals  and  roads,  that  our  "practical"  nation  has  need  to 
learn  of  them ;  so  it  might  not  be  unprofitable  to  ask  ourselves 
whether  we  can  point  to  any  popular  writer  of  our  own  who 
so  makes  duty  his  cardinal  doctrine,  and  who  has  been 
listened  to  with  such  wide-spread  interest  and  sympathy  by 


Xviii  BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICE  OF  ^MILK  SOUVESTRE. 

his  countrymen,  as  Emile  Souvestre.  At  the  news  of  his 
death,  Frenchmen  of  all  opinions  rendered  homage  to  his 
character  ;  and  those — for  there  were  such — who,  in  his  life- 
time, had  accused  him  of  employing  art  too  entirely  in  the 
service  of  morals,  were  not  last  to  deplore  the  loss  which  the 
national  literature  liad  sustained  in  him.  The  Academic 
Fran9aise  voted  to  Madame  Souvestre,  his  widow,  the  testi- 
monial founded  by  M.  Lambert  for  the  recognition  of  the 
memory  of  the  writer  who  had  been  most  useful  to  his  countiy. 

The  two  first  tales.  The  Bargeman  op  the  Loire  and  The 
Lazaretto-Keepek,  were  translated  by  M.  Souvestre's  own 
request — tlie  former  from  the  volume  called  Sous  les  Filets, 
and  the  latter  from  En  Qiiarantaine :  and  the  translators  had 
hoped  to  offer  them  in  their  English  form  to  the  author  as  a 
token  of  personal  regard  and  esteem.  But  alas  1  they  can 
only  lay  them  as  a  winter  wreath  upon  his  tomb  I 

Clittok,  February  1855. 


BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDEE. 


THE  BARGEMAN  OF  THE  LOIRE. 


CHAPTER  L— THE  RIVALS. 

Do  you  see  that  figure  of  a  nymph  leaning  on  the  symholio 
um  ?  Her  fair  hair  is  wreathed  with  silver  willow ;  her  soft 
blue  eye  wanders  into  the  depths  of  heaven ;  her  hands  are 
fiill  of  fruits,  and  stretched  towards  a  group  of  children  ;  and 
her  beautiful  form  lies  gracefully  reclining  along  the  flowery 
grass.  It  is  the  Loire,  such  as  art  has  been  able  to  express 
her  in  marble — such  as  your  own  imagination,  when  you 
had  once  seen,  would  personify,  her.  Force,  impetuosity,  and 
grandeur,  may  rule  elsewhere ;  hero  is  the  reign  of  beauty 
and  fertility.  In  a  course  of  more  than  a  hundred  and  eighty 
leagues,  the  "  corn-coloured  river,"  as  an  old  chronicler 
has  it,  flows  through  meadows,  vineyards,  woods,  and  great 
cities,  without  once  finding  a  barren  or  a  desert  spot.  From 
its  source  to  the  sea,  on  either  side,  the  eye  sees  only  flocks 
feeding,  chimneys  smoking,  and  ploughmen  who  seem  sing- 
ing at  their  ploughs.  The  stream  glides  noiselessly  over  its 
sandy  bed— among  islets  nodding  their  plumes  of  osier,  willow, 


2  BKITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

and  poplar.  In  all  the  landscape,  there  is  a  delightful  though 
rather  xmvarying  softness ;  a  subdiied  quiet,  which  gives  to 
everything  around  you  that  attractiveness  which  is  somehow 
always  found  with  affluence  and  ease.  It  is  almost  a  piece  of 
Arcadia,  with  more  water  and  less  sun. 

Upon  the  river  dwell  a  race  who  partake  its  character. 
They  have  not  the  jeering  turbulence  of  the  Seine  boatmen, 
nor  the  sullen  fierceness  of  those  of  the  Ehone,  nor  the  heavi- 
ness of  the  men  who  navigate  the  Ehine.  The  bargeman  of 
the  Loire  is  of  a  peaceful  disposition  ;  vigorous  without  coarse- 
ness, and  meny  without  excess,  he  lets  his  life  flow  on  through 
things  as  he  finds  them,  like  the  water  which  carries  him  be- 
tween its  fertile  banks.  With  a  few  exceptions,  he  has  no  re- 
straints of  locks,  no  hard  labour  at  the  oar,  no  tedious  towing 
work  to  undergo.  The  wind,  which  finds  free  course  through 
the  immense  basin  of  the  river,  enables  him  to  sail  both  up 
and  down.  Standing  at  the  enormous  helm,  the  boatmaster 
attends  only  to  the  course  of  the  barge,  whilst  his  mates  help 
it  along  by  "  spurring"  the  bottom  of  the  water  with  iron- 
shod  poles.  At  intervals,  a  few  words  are  exchanged  in  the 
loud  tone  of  people  accustomed  to  talk  in  the  open  air ;  the 
youngster  hums  the  famous  song  of  "  The  Bargeman  of  the 
Loire ; "  the  barge  that  meets  them  gets  a  merry  cheer  as  it 
passes,  or  gives  them  some  iiseful  bit  of  news;  and  in  this 
way  they  all  reach  the  evening's  anchorage,  where  the  crews 
who  have  had  equal  luck  of  wind  and  tide  during  the  day, 
meet  together  at  the  public  house  patronized  by  the  River 
Service. 

One  of  these  chances  has  just  brought  the  bargemen  of  the 
"  Hope,"  a  newly -built  cliarreyonne^  and  those  of  the/«;?'eaw* 

*  The  Charrcyonnes  and  the  Futreaux,  like  the  Pyards,  the  Chalans,  and  the  Gabarrcs, 
are  boats  in  use  upon  the  Loire.  Differences  of  size  and  other  things  distinguish  them 
one  from  the  other.  The  Futreau  is  generally  smaller  than  the  Charrcyonne  ;  formerly 
it  had  a  coyeted  place  for  the  use  of  pasi^ngers. 


THE  BAKGEMAN  OF  THE  LOIRE.  3 

"  White  Flag,"  together  at  the  "  Grand  Turk,"  at  Chalonnes. 
It  was  the  end  of  January  in  the  year  1819  :  the  snow  had 
now  been  lying  on  the  ground  for  a  long  time,  and  a  great 
fire  was  blazing  in  the  main  room  of  the  inn,  which  served  at 
once  for  kitchen  and  hall.  The  "  river  brethren,"  while  wait- 
ing for  supper,  sat  drinking  round  a  large  oak  table  stained 
with  wine,  and  with  four  brass  halfpence  at  its  four  corners, 
where  some  jovial  fellow  had  nailed  them  by  way  of  ornament. 
The  bargemen's  voices  resounded  merrily  in  boisterous  jests 
and  laughter,  when  the  inn  door,  which  the  inclemency 
of  the  season  had  kept  closed,  contrary  to  all  custom,  was 
hastily  opened.  At  the  draught  of  cold  air  wliich  entered 
with  the  new-comer,  they  all  turned  round,  and  discovered 
"  outlawed  Tony."  This  was  the  nickname  given  to  Master 
Lezin,  formerly  a  bargeman,  and  now  a  fisherman  of  the 
Loire  ;  and  who  had  many  times  been  fined  and  sent  to  jail  for 
making  use  of  the  small-meshed  nets,  which  are  forbidden  by 
law,  lest  the  river  should  be  unstocked  by  the  destruction  of 
the  young  fry.  Lezin  was  one  of  those  cynics  of  the  baser 
sort,  who,  finding  it  troublesome  to  affect  virtue,  indulge 
themselves  in  plain-speaking  vice.  To  be  beforehand  with 
the  accusations  of  others,  he  had  become  his  own  accuser,  and 
complacently  showed  himself  on  his  evil  reputation,  elevated 
as  on  a  pedestal ;  and  his  buffoonery  made  his  immorality 
pass.  Many  honest  folks  laughed  at  him — the  timid  from 
false  shame,  and  the  bold  not  to  seem  too  easily  startled ;  and 
by  thus  making  themselves  his  accomplices  they  encouraged 
Lezin  in  his  course. 

The  bargemen  greeted  his  entrance  with  a  welcome  of 
doubtful  meaning,  but  he  seemed  to  take  it  in  good  part. 

"  Good-day,  my  lads ;  a  good-day,  and  a  merry  new  year 
to  you,"  said  he,  with  his  usual  impudent  chuckle. 

Addressing  himself  to  a  handsome  young  man  of  five- 


4  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VEND]fiE. 

and-twenty,  who,  notwithstanding  the  cold,  wore  the  ordinary 
bargeman's  dress — a  short  jacket,  blue  trowsers  fastened 
round  the  waist  with  a  red  woollen  sash,  a  knotted  cotton 
cravat,  small  glazed  hat,  and  thin  shoes  tied  with  ribbon — 
be  added — "  Ah,  here  you  are,  Andre,  my  boy ;  they  say 
you  are  beginning  the  year  by  sporting  a  bran-new  Charre- 
yonne." 

Then  turning  round — 

"  My  service  to  you,  Master  Meru ;  and  to  your  nephew 
Francis,  and  all  the  rest.  Confound  me  if  all  the  folks  here 
must  not  be  honest  men,  to  look  so  comfortable  and  happy  as 
they  do." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  reckon  yourself  among  them,  then, 
Master  Outlaw,"  observed  Meru,  with  a  jocoseness  that  im- 
perfectly concealed  his  contempt. 

"  Men  of  the  world  never  reckon  themselves  when  they 
get  among  innocents,"  replied  Lezin,  in  a  tone  of  easy  impu- 
dence. "  But  deuce  take  me  if  I  did  not  think  Master  Meru's 
Futreau  was  discharged  and  off  again." 

"  Then  you  did  not  know  that  I  was  waiting  here  for  a 
freight?" 

"A  freight!"  repeated  the  fisherman;  "have  the  lords 
of  Chalonnes  charged  you  with  the  carriage  of  their  dis- 
taff?"* 

"  Not  a  distaff,  but  some  one  who  knows  how  to  use  it." 

Lezin  followed  the  looks  of  the  bargeman  towards  the 
chimney  corner,  and  he  there  perceived  a  girl  spinning  by  the 
fireside. 

"  Faith  I  'tis  pretty  Entine  ! "  f  cried  he ;  "  how  goes  it  with 
you,  Entine?" 

*  The  Sire  of  Chalonnes  having  neglected  to  take  aid  to  the  Seigneur  of  Obantoc£  when 
besieged  by  the  English,  was  condemned  to  send  his  wife  every  year  a  distaff  laid  on  a 
silken  cushion,  and  drawn  in  a  carriage  by  four  oxen. 

t  Short  for  Valentine. 


THE  BARGEMAN  OF  THE  LOIRE.  5 

"  Colder  than  in  the  month  of  August,  Mr.  Lezin,"  said 
the  damsel,  whose  perked-up  nose,  laughing  mouth,  and  saucy- 
eyes,  showed  her  character. 

"  And  is  this  the  way  you  leave  your  uncle  at  St.  Vincent's 
Hermitage?"  resumed  the  fisherman;  "cannot  the  lovely 
Entine  fancy  a  farmhouse  ?  " 

"  No,"  replied  she  ironically ;  "  the  time  hung  heavy  on 
my  hands,  as  I  might  not  guide  the  plough,  nor  drive  the 
oxen,  nor  even  manage  the  servant  lads." 

Lezin  gave  a  knowing  look,  and  then — 

"  My  notion  is  rather  that  you  wished  yourself  hack  in  the 
town  of  Nantes,"  replied  he  impudently.  "  The  town  is  the 
right  place  for  pretty  girls  and  sharpers." 

"  Then  perhaps  you  have  some  idea  of  going  there,  Mr. 
Lezin?"  asked  Entine  with  an  air  of  simplicity,  which  did 
not  take  the  fisherman  in. 

"  Mischievous  mole !"  said  he ;  "he  will  be  sharp  enough 
who  sells  you." 

"  And  happy  enough,  I  hope,  who  buys  me,"  added  the  dam- 
sel ;  "  but  a  ring  and  a  prayer-book  will  be  wanted  for  that." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  resumed  Lezin,  laughing ;  "  I  know  you  re- 
quire a  license  for  fishing." 

"  And  she  does  not  use  illegal  nets,"  put  in  Meru  gaily. 

"  Because  the  fish  comes  of  itself  into  her  snare,"  replied 
the  fisherman.  "  Honesty's  the  same  with  girls  as  with  boys, 
old  fellow — it's  a  matter  of  convenience ;  if  I  could  get  any- 
thing by  turning  saint,  I  would  soon  have  myself  on  the  list. 
But  now,  where  are  you  taking  her  to  at  Nantes?" 

"  To  a  fine  wooden  house  upon  two  wheels,  which  go  round 
without  going  on,"  said  Entine. 

"That's  Aunt  Kinot's  mill?" 

"  There  now,  if  you  don't  understand  witchcraft ! " 

"  More  than  you  think  for,  poor  little  trout  I    And  to  prove 


6  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDl^E. 

it,  I  can  tell  you  what  makes  you  so  liappy  to  go  and  live  at 
the  Madeleine  mill." 

"Perhaps  because  flour  does  not  make  one's  face  black." 

"  My  notion  is  rather  because  the  miller  is  a  handsome 
lad."  ' 

"The  miller!"  repeated  the  damsel.  "Then  you  don't 
know  that  my  aunt  is  a  widow?" 

"  But  widows  have  sons,"  rejoined  the  fisherman ;  "  and  I 
see  one,  not  two  steps  ofi^,  who  seems  a  likely  one  to  be  look- 
ing out  for  a  sweetheart. — Come,  let  us  know,  Francis,  is  not 
that  the  truth?" 

The  youth  to  whom  he  spoke  was  what  is  called  a  well- 
grown  young  fellow,  strongly  built,  and  of  a  florid  complexion  ; 
but  his  forehead  was  low,  and  he  had  a  sullen  look.  He  col- 
oured at  the  fisherman's  question. 

"  As  you  were  speaking  to  my  cousin,  you  had  better  get 
her  to  answer  you,"  said  he  gruffly,  and  with  embarrass- 
ment. 

"He  would  like  it,"  observed  Meru,  laughing;  "but  he  is 
not  cunning  enough  yet  to  catch  her.  You  see,  Mr.  Outlaw, 
that  it's  of  no  use  for  the  meshes  of  your  nets  to  be  smaller 
than  lawful ;  a  girl's  secrets  will  slip  through  them,  anyhow. 
Hey,  Entine?" 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  uncle,  but  I  don't  understand  about 
fishing,"  replied  she,  with  an  arch  look  of  ignorance,  which 
made  everybody  laugh. 

"  If  Francis  is  not  your  sweetheart,  then  you  must  have 
some  one  else,"  said  Lezin.  "  Let  us  see,  where  can  there  be 
a  more  likely  blade  for  a  lover  than  your  cousin?" 

"  Find  out,  master,"  replied  the  girl,  keeping  her  eyes 
fixed  upon  her  distaff,  but  yet  involuntarily  turning  herself  a 
little  towards  the  right  in  a  way  which  did  not  escape  the 
sharp  looks  of  outlawed  Tony. 


THE  BARGEMAN  OF  THE  LOIEE,  7 

"Well,  well;  then  perhaps  it  is  the  master  of  the  new 
Charreyonne?"  asked  he  in  a  whisper. 

The  damsel  pretended  not  to  hear,  and  looked  down. 

"  He's  the  man,"  continued  Lezin,  with  a  burst  of  laughter. 
"  Oh,  that's  famous !  Now  I  know  why  he  calls  his  boat 
'  The  Hope.' " 

"  Come,  we  shall  all  have  our  turn,"  said  the  young  boat- 
man, who  coloured  a  little,  but  kept  his  good-humoured  look. 
"  Positively,  Tony  is  turned  priest,  and  means  to  confess  all 
the  lads  and  lasses  in  the  country  round." 

"Ah,  you  may  laugh,"  resumed  the  fisherman  ;  "but  would 
you  like  me  to  tell  the  name  of  the  flower  that  is  growing  at 
the  bottom  of  your  heart,  and  of  pretty  Entine's?" 

"Nobody  asked  you.  Master  Outlaw,"  put  in  Francis 
abruptly. 

"And  of  yours  too,  my  lad,"  added  the  imperturbable  fisher- 
man ;  "  don't  you  know,  that  by  dint  of  looking  to  the  bottom 
of  the  river  one  learns  to  see  clearly  into  men's  minds.  There 
are  always  troubled  waters  in  both.  So,  I  can  tell  you  that 
two  of  you  are  setting  your  lines  in  the  same  pool — one  openly, 
and  the  other  like  a  sneak ;  and  the  other  is  not  Andre.  Now, 
do  you  understand?" 

"  I  understand,"  cried  Francis,  casting  a  scowl  full  of  ran- 
cour at  Lezin.  "I  understand  that  you  are  a  good-for-nothing 
rascal,  who  either  to-day  or  to-morrow  must  be  made  to  hold 
his  tongue." 

"Pooh!  how  will  you  do  that,  my  lad?"  asked  outlawed 
Tony,  looking  the  youth  full  in  the  face. 

"  By  shutting  your  mouth  with  a  glass  of  wine,'!  interrupted 
Andre  in  a  jovial  voice,  and  holding  out  to  the  fisherman  a 
cup  filled  to  the  brim. 

Lezin  nodded  his  head. 

"  Directly,"  said  he.     "  It  is  you  who  are  a  true  bargeman 


8  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VEND:fiE. 

— as  bright  as  the  sun,  and  as  free  as  the  river.  May  the 
naullets  fry  me  if  I  don't  give  you  my  daughter — when  I 
have  one  ! " 

"And  when  he  has  proved  himself  a  good  boatmaster," 
added  Meru,  who  was  emptying  his  glass  by  little  sips ;  "  for 
now-a-days  the  lads  take  the  command  before  they  have 
learned  to  obey,  and  the  youngsters  give  captains  the  go'by 
in  a  trice  !  But  it  is  not  enough  to  have  a  barge  under  your 
feet ;  you  must  know  how  to  make  her  follow  the  channel, 
avoid  the  ice,  clear  the  bridges,  anchor  at  the  best  places,  and 
manage  her  crew  by  kindness." 

"  Stop!"  cried  the  fisherman,  shrugging  his  shoulders,  "all 
that  goes  for  nothing ;  what  you  are  speaking  of  only  comes 
second." 

" Then  what  comes  first?"  asked  Entine's  uncle. 

"  What  really  makes  the  bargeman." 

"Well,  what's  that?" 

"  It's  the  matelote,*  Father  Meru.  He  who  can  make  that 
best  will  always  be  the  river's  best  friend,  have  the  steadiest 
hand,  and  the  quickest  brains  too." 

All  the  boatmen  began  to  laugh. 

"  Faith  !  outlawed  Tony  is  right,"  said  the  oldest ;  "  I  have 
always  seen  good  matelote-makers  good  sailors." 

"Then  it's  agreed,"  cried  Lezin,  slipping  a  net-bag  from 
off  his  shoulder ;  "  we  must  take  soundings  what  each  one  is 
worth.  Come,  in  the  devil's  name !  I  propose  a  matelote- 
match  between  the  lads ;  here's  the  fish,  Goodman  Meru  will 
find  the  sauce." 

"  Agreed,"  said  the  boatman. 

"  Quick !  Francis,  Andre,  Simon,"  resumed  the  fisherman ; 
"tuck  up  your  sleeves,  youngsters,  and  matelote  to  death  1 
When  each  has  done  his  best,  the  elders  will  be  judges." 

*  A  dish  composed  of  sereral  kinds  of  fish. 


THE  BARGEMAN  OP  THE  LOIRE.  9 

He  emptied  the  bag  of  fish  into  several  plates,  which  the 
young  bargemen  came  and  took  Avith  a  laugh. 

This  sort  of  contest  was  neither  strange  nor  new  to  them. 
They  were,  oftener  than  not,  obliged  to  depend  upon  them- 
selves for  everything  during  their  wandering  and  isolated 
lives  on  the  river,  and  to  make  the  most  of  the  smallest 
means;  and  usually,  moreover,  to  procure  these  from  the 
river  which  was  carrying  them  along.  Thus  the  art  of  dress- 
ing fish  had  become  one  of  the  most  important  occupations 
of  a  boatman  of  the  Loire.  He  found  his  pride  and  pleasure 
both  in  it.  Consequently,  the  "bargeman's  matelote"  has 
acquired  and  retained  a  fame  which,  like  the  trophies  of 
Miltiades,  still  prevents  more  than  one  culinary  Themistocles 
from  sleeping.  In  the  towns  on  the  banks  of  the  river,  many 
clever  servants  of  Lent  have  vainly  applied  their  minds  to 
the  discovery  of  the  secret  of  this  celebrated  dish  :  whether 
it  is  some  defect  in  the  imitation,  or  prejudice  in  the  tasters, 
the  supremacy  has  hitherto  remained  indisputably  with  the 
inventors. 

Whilst  Andre  and  his  rivals  were  preparing  for  the  matcli 
proposed  by  Lezin,  the  latter  had  seated  himself  at  the  table 
with  the  drinkers,  and  continued  to  enliven  them  with  his 
impudent  jokes.  But  Anjou  wine  always  took  Meru  back  to 
old  thoughts  of  past  times :  no  sooner  did  he  begin  to  get 
heated,  than  he  set  to  talking  of  the  war  in  which  he  had  for- 
merly taken  part  in  La  Vendee,  and  his  encounters  with  the 
"  Blues ; "  and  ended  by  proposing  a  health  to  the  White  Flag. 

"  A  health  I  only  one  !"  cried  the  fisherman  ;  "  rio,  no,  old 
boy,  that's  very  unhealthy ;  two  healths,  by  all  means,  or  three, 
if  you  please.  I'm  for  all  colours  which  give  a  man  wine  to 
drink  without  his  having  to  pay  for  it." 

"Then  you  have  no  opinion  of  your  own,  you  sinner?" 
said  the  bargeman  contemptuously. 


10  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

"Why  should  I?"  asked  Lezin.  "If  I  had  one,  nobody 
would  buy  it  of  me,  and,  in  the  long  run,  I  might  find  it 
troublesome  to  keep.  Opinions  are  all  very  well  for  the  town 
gentry  who  like  to  have  their  luxuries." 

"  Still,  you  are  as  old  as  I  am,"  observed  Meru,  "  and  your 
beard  must  have  grown  at  the  time  of  the  great  war." 

"  Therefore  they  trimmed  it  for  me  every  Sunday,"  replied 
Lezin  waggishly. 

"  That  means  that  you  had  not  heart  enough  to  fight 
for  your  God  and  your  king,"  replied  the  bargeman  with 
wannth. 

"  Faith !  it  was  not  for  want  of  heart.  Father  Meru,"  said 
the  fisherman  ;  "  it  was  the  fault  of  our  mothers,  who  taught 
us  lads  of  Behuard  how  to  reason." 

"What  do  you  mean ?" 

"Well,  this  is  how  it  was — perhaps  there  are  some  here 
who  know  I  was  born  in  the  Isle  of  Behuard,  which  lies  up 
above.  As  the  Loire  is  pretty  wide  there,  and  the  water  too 
deep  to  cross  in  your  gaiters,  the  death-shivers  were  on  both 
the  banks  without  troubling  our  digestion.  Neither  the 
Whites  nor  the  Blues  had  boats  to  pay  us  a  visit  in,  and  we 
took  care  to  keep  our  barges  off  the  banks.  So  everything 
went  on  with  its  accustomed  regularity — people  went  to  their 
mass  and  went  to  their  dinner,  they  made  hay  and  they 
made  love — truly  it  was  a  blessed  time!  But  one  day,  or 
rather  I  should  say  one  evening,  lo  and  behold !  there  comes 
a  little  wherry  alongside  with  three  Blues,  who  wanted  pro- 
visions. They  were  told  that  no  one  had  more  than  enough 
for  himself ;  they  answered  they  must  have  what  they  wanted, 
and  threatened  to  cure  the  hunger  of  the  first  who  refused 
them ;  and  they  entered  our  next  neighbour's  house,  where 
they  set  to  work — eating,  drinking,  and  kissing  the  girls  to 
their  hearts'  content." 


THE  BARGEMAN  OF  THE  LOIRE.  11 

"  And  you  let  them  do  it,  you  cowards !"  interrupted  Meru. 

"Wait  till  I've  finished,"  continued  Lezin.  "Whilst  they 
were  taking  their  pleasure  in  this  way,  our  men  assembled 
and  consulted  together.  The  oldest  said,  '  If  we  let  these 
three  hungry  fellows  go  back  again,  they  will  tell  where  the 
cloth  is  laid  ;  to-morrov/  wc  shall  have  thirty  here,  and  the 
next  day  three  hundred  !  So  we  must  shut  them  up  in  some 
place  where  they  can  never  get  out  again,  and  the  best  cage 
is  a  hole  in  the  churchyard,'  Everybody  agreed  that  this 
was  the  right  thing.  The  business  was  settled  the  same 
evening;  and  the  next  morning  the  priest  was  asked  for  a 
mass  for  the  repose  of  their  souls." 

"  Well  done  I  you  were  quite  right,"  said  the  old  barge- 
man, getting  more  and  more  heated.  "  I  see  that  you  too 
have  been  at  cuffs  with  the  Blues." 

"  Stay  a  moment.  Father  Meru,"  resumed  the  fisherman  ; 
"  it  was  a  general  measure  of  precaution.  A  week  after, 
when  the  Whites  came  and  wanted  to  ring  the  tocsin — to 
carry  off  the  corn,  and  take  the  fowling-pieces,  our  people 
were  obliged  to  make  use  of  the  same  arguments,  and  had  to 
say  another  mass." 

"For  the  Whites!"  cried  Meru,  whose  conscience, like  that 
of  all  party-men,  had  two  sides.  "  Oh,  you  scoundrels  I  you 
murdered  true  Christians  who  came  to  ask  you  for  help ! 
And  dare  you  tell  me,  and  not  fear  that  I  shall  revenge  them 
upon  you?" 

The  old  bargeman's  eyes  rolled  in  their  sockets,  his  voice 
shook  with  rage,  and  he  seized  a  bottle  that  was  standing  be- 
fore him  by  the  neck,  as  if  he  meant  to  make  a  weapon  of  it. 
Lezin  quietly  held  out  his  glass. 

"  Why  revenge  them  upon  me,  who  was  not  then  in  the 
place  ?"  said  he,  smiling.  "  Faith  I  I  only  heard  of  it  many 
years  after,  when  both  Blues  and  Whites  had  knocked  out 


13  HRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

their  miisket-flints.  Come,  old  boy,  pour  away !  talking  bo 
mncli  chokes  me." 

Meru's  fingers  relaxed  their  grasp  of  the  bottle,  and  he 
mechanically  filled  the  fisherman's  glass. 

Entine,  who  was  frightened  at  her  uncle's  burst  of  rage, 
had  come  to  the  table ;  and  she  pi'evented  the  renewal  of  the 
conversation  by  laying  the  cloth,  and  saying  the  matelotes 
were  ready. 

In  fact,  it  was  not  long  before  the  three  young  bargemen 
made  their  appearance  with  their  dishes,  in  which  the  Anjou 
wine  they  had  set  on  fire  was  running  along  with  unsteady 
flame.  It  went  out  when  on  the  table,  and  the  company  at 
once  proceeded  to  their  investigation.  Most  of  them  set  about 
it  with  no  small  solemnity,  and  made  their  trials  and  compari- 
sons several  times  over.  The  competitors  stood  waiting  be- 
hind them,  whilst  the  damsel  looked  from  one  of  the  company 
to  another  with  something  of  anxiety.  Lezin  was  the  first 
to  declare  his  opinion. 

"  There's  a  dish,"  said  he,  pointing  to  the  one  furthest  ofi^, 
"  that  I  would  not  give  to  a  dog,  nor  even  a  river-keeper ; 
this  one" — looking  at  that  nearest — "  a  man  might  eat  as  he 
drinks  Loire  water,  for  want  of  something  better  ;  but  for  this 
in  the  middle  I  would  sell  my  soul  to  Beelzebub,  if  the  rogue 
were  still  in  business  and  had  not  cleared  off  his  stock." 

'*  A  just  judgment ! "  cried  every  voice. 

"  It  is  Andre's  matelote"  said  Entine  quickly,  and  colour- 
ing with  delight. 

"  And  the  one  yonder  is  the  miller's,"  added  Lezin,  with 
a  sly  look  at  Francis.  "  I  don't  wonder  now  that  he  put  so 
much  flour  in  it." 

The  youth  did  not  answer,  but  his  eyes  assumed  a  still 
more  treacherous  and  sullen  look.  In  the  meantime  the  boat- 
men lifted  their  glasses. 


THE  BARGEMAN  OF  THE  LOIRE.  IS 

"  The  health  of  the  king  of  the  matelote-makers ! "  cried 
L^zin. 

"  Come  here,  my  young  bargeman,"  added  Mferu,  making  a 
place  for  him  near  himself. 

Andre  hastened  to  take  it,  and  pledged  all  the  company, 
whose  joviality  was  getting  more  and  more  noisy.  Meru 
himself  had  completely  forgotten  his  anger,  and  manifested  a 
good-will  to  the  young  bargemaster,  for  which  the  latter  was 
evidently  grateful.  At  last  he  put  his  hand  in  a  friendly  way 
upon  his  shoulder,  exclaiming — 

"  Well,  there's  no  going  against  what  that  rascal  of  an 
outlaw  says,  '  A  good  matelote  shows  a  good  bargeman,'  and 
yours  is  the  best  sample.  The  Virgin  has  had  a  finger  in  it, 
as  the  saying  is.  Now  it  remains  to  be  proved  if  you  are  of 
the  stuff  all  true  bargemasters  are  made  of.  We  shall  know 
that  to-morrow,  my  boy,  as  my  Futreau  is  to  go  down  to 
Nantes  with  your  Charreyonne.  I  shall  be  empty,  and  you 
laden ;  if  you  do  not  drop  very  far  astern,  I  shall  say  that  in 
spite  of  your  youth  you  have  a  right  to  wear  anchor  ear-rings, 
and,  better  still,  to  say  grace,  and  help  yourself  first."* 

"  You  may  be  sure  I  shall  do  my  best.  Father  Meru,"  said 
Andre,  giving  a  side-look  at  Entine.  "  As  true  as  I'm  my 
mother's  son,  I  have  nothing  nearer  my  heart  than  to  give 
jon.  satisfaction . " 

The  old  bargeman,  who  had  caught  his  look,  gave  a  merry 
grin. 

"Ay,  ay,  my  lad,"  replied  he,  filling  his  glass  again; 
"  uncles,  you  see,  are  something  like  helms — they  want  con- 
stant management." 

And  seeing  Andre  going  to  take  advantage  of  the  opening, 
and  perhaps  to  come  to  an  explanation — 

♦  The  barga  crew  all  eat  their  meaU  together ;  but  the  master  says  grace,  and  helpt 
hlmscU  first,— the  dishes  being  handed  In  France,  not  the  plates,  as  In  England. 


14  BRTTTANY  AND  LA  VENDEE. 

"  I  sliall  tell  you  notliing  more,"  added  he,  "  unless  it  be 
that  my  good-will  is  like  the  river — open  to  all  the  world. 
It  is  the  best  sailor  who  will  go  ahead.  Hurrah  for  the 
youngsters !  Hoist  the  sail  and  shove  away ;  the  master  of 
the  White  Flag  is  the  friend  of  all  brave  lads," 

*' And  all  brave  lads  like  to  have  him  for  their  master !" 
cried  Andre,  clinking  his  glass  against  Meru's.  "  Confound 
me  if  this  is  not  the  pleasantest  evening  of  my  life  !  Thunder 
and  lightning  could  not  take  away  the  happiness  I  feel !" 

"  Then  you  will  not  lose  it  by  the  neighbour  I  see  coming," 
observed  Lezin,  who  had  walked  to  the  window. 

"Whom  do  you  see?"  asked  Andre,  whose  fascinated  eyes 
were  still  fixed  on  Entine. 

"Look  !"  replied  the  fisherman. 

A  tall  man,  thin,  and  slovenly  in  his  dress,  had  just  opened 
the  door.  He  stood  unsteadily  on  the  threshold,  and,  with 
eyes  dulled  by  drunkenness,  he  seemed  searching  for  some 
one  in  the  parlour  of  the  "  Grand  Turk."  At  sight  of  him, 
the  young  boatmaster  looked  surprised. 

"  It  is  my  father,"  cried  he. 

"Master  Jacques  I"  repeated  several  voices;  "  well,  why 
does  he  not  come  in?" 

"  Then  you  don't  see  that  he  is  liead  to  wind,  as  usual,", 
said  Francis  with  a  malicious  laugh.  "  Come,  old  Jacques, 
come  along  ;  the  bird's  here." 

The  drunkard  reeled  on  a  step  towards  Andre,  who  got  up, 
looking  rather  ashamed  as  his  looks  encountered  those  of 
Meru. 

"You'll  excuse  him,  Captain,"  said  he  in  a  whisper,  and 
colouring  ;  "  my  father  has  had  many  crosses  formerly,  and 
ho  finds  too  much  comfort  in  the  bi'andy  bottle." 

"  So  I  have  been  told,"  replied  the  bargeman  with  a  sort 
of  pity ;   "  but  this  is  the  first  time  I  have  met  with  him. 


THE  BARGEMAN  OF  THE  LOIRE.  15 

Poor  old  man,  he  is  severely  punished !  His  hands  shake 
like  a  hirch  leaf!  Look  there,  lads,  and  learn  that  wine  is 
the  true  drink  for  man :  at  most,  it  puti  him  down  for  an 
hour,  whilst  brandy  makes  an  end  of  him  without  mercy." 

Then  turning  to  Andre's  father,  and  pointing  to  a  stool 
against  the  wall,  he  added — 

"  Come,  Master  Jacques,  one  more  pull  at  the  oar.  And 
all  of  you,  lads,  make  room  for  him ;  respect  sorrow." 

The  old  man  succeeded  in  reaching  the  stool  and  seating 
himself,  with  the  help  of  Andre,  who  then  endeavoured  to 
learn  what  had  induced  him  to  leave  Saint-George,  where  he 
lived. 

After  repeatedly  bringing  him  back  to  the  point,  he  thought 
he  made  out  that  his  father  had  received  a  letter  which 
called  them  both  to  Nantes  on  important  business,  and  that 
he  had  come  to  join  him  at  Chalonnes,  that  he  might  go  down 
the  Loire  in  his  boat.  What  the  nature  of  the  business  was. 
Master  Jacques  refused  to  explain.  When  drunk,  he  was 
accustomed  to  hold  a  certain  mastery  over  himself  which  had 
always  struck  his  son  with  wonder.  It  seemed  as  if  a  firm 
and!  sovereign  will,  as  inseparable  from  his  being  as  the  in- 
stinct of  self-preservation,  always  kept  watch  over  the  portals 
of  his  soul.  Often  the  word  just  escaping  from  his  lips  was 
suddenly  withheld  by  a  caution  which  had  outlived  everything 
else,  and  then  he  took  refuge  in  obstinate  silence.  The  young 
bargeman  knew  his  habits  too  well  to  persist  in  useless  attempts 
to  change  them.  As  soon  as  he  saw  him  determined  to  hold 
his  tongue,  he  left  off  questioning  him,  and  only  thought  of 
getting  back  to  his  barge.  His  two  men  set  off  first,  taking 
Master  Jacques  with  them,  whilst  he  took  leave  of  Entine 
and  her  uncle. 

"  I  must  set  off  to-morrow  morning  before  daylight,"  said 
he  to  them.    "  There's  ice  up  the  river ;  the  first  mild  weather 


16  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VtNDl^E. 

may  move  it,  and  then  beware  of  the  break-up.  I  am  in  a 
hurry  to  be  at  Nantes  with  my  cargo." 

"  And  I,  too,  with  my  boat  and  my  niece,"  replied  Meru 
merrily ;  "  for  it  is  agreed,  my  lad,  that  we  sail  in  company, 
is  it  not?" 

"I  hope  so,  Captain,  since  that  is  the  way  to  get  your 
good-will.     Do  you  remember  what  you  said?" 

"And  I'll  not  break  my  word,"  replied  Meru;  "yes,  yes, 
now  we  shall  see  what  you  are  made  of.  Look  you  to  your 
boat,  Francis  shall  steer  mine ;  and  when  we  come  to  Nantes 
we  shall  know  what  you  are  both  worth." 

"Andre  pressed  the  old  bargeman's  hand,  and  then  took 
leave  of  Entine  by  kissing  her,  according  to  custom,  on  both 
cheeks,  and  bidding  her  a  hearty  good-bye. 

"  If  you  really  meant  to  follow  us,"  said  the  damsel  slily, 
"you  would  only  have  said.  Good-bye  till  our  next  meet- 
ing." 

"  Goodbye  till  our  next  meeting,  then,"  replied  Andre ; 
"  and  pray  to  the  Virgin  for  me." 

He  went  back  to  his  barge,  whilst  Meru  remained  at  the 
inn,  where  he  intended  to  stay  the  night  with  his  niece,  send- 
ing his  crew  by  themselves  to  their  boat  with  Francis. 

This  last  felt  rage  and  jealousy  burning  within  him.  The 
little  defeat  he  had  just  sustained,  the  jokes  of  Lezin,  and 
above  all,  his  cousin's  very  evident  preference  of  Andre,  were 
rankling  like  poison  in  his  heart.  He  was  in  that  state  of 
mind,  that  he  could  not  himself  have  decided  if  his  hatred  of 
him  was  stronger  than  his  love  for  her ;  but  hatred  and  love 
ended  in  a  single  determination — that  of  ridding  himself  of 
the  young  boatmaster  at  any  cost.  He  was  too  prudent  to 
att.ack  him  openly,  and  looked  about  for  some  way  of  dam- 
aging him  without  committing  himself.  He  was  lying  down 
near  his  mates  in  the  cabin  of  the  boat ;  but  whilst  the  two 


THE  BARGEMAN  OF  THE  LOIRE.  17' 

bargemen  were  snoring  by  Lis  side,  he  was  still  tossing  wake- 
fully  on  his  pallet. 

The  contest  which  was  to  begin  next  morning  between 
himself  and  Andre,  added  still  more  to  his  restlessness  and 
irritation.  He  had  passed  his  early  youth  at  Nantes,  in  the 
lazy  life  of  a  mill,  without  any  other  occupation  than  dressing 
the  millstone,  raising  the  water-gates,  and  playing  the  bag- 
pipe, as  was  the  custom  of  the  millers  of  the  place.  After- 
wards, owing  to  a  quarrel  with  his  mother,  he  had  been  com- 
pelled to  go  back  to  his  uncle,  and  had  turned  bargeman,  but 
without  ever  having  been  able  to  acquire  much  experience  or 
skill  in  his  new  craft.  He  therefore  foresaw  that  the  trial 
which  Father  Meru  had  proposed  between  him  and  Andre 
would  end  in  a  new  disgrace  to  him,  and  to  all  appearance 
make  sure  of  Entine's  marriage  with  the  young  boatmaster. 
All  at  once  he  started  up  as  if  struck  by  a  sudden  light, 
thought  an  instant,  and  then  slipped  out  of  the  cabin,  and 
went  cautiously  to  the  stern  of  the  boat,  and  looked  roimd. 

All  was  still  in  the  other  barge,  which  was  moored  a  little 
lower  down.  The  night  was  dark,  and  the  waters  of  the 
Loire  were  rolling  by  with  a  low  murmur.  Having  satisfied 
himself  that  no  one  could  see  him,  Francis  got  into  the 
wherry,  which  he  unfastened,  and  cut  across  the  stream  in  a 
slanting  direction  till  he  reached  the  channel.  He  then 
dropped  down  the  river  for  some  distance,  without  giving  the 
slightest  indication  of  his  intention  ;  nor  was  it  until  the  cur- 
rent had  brought  him  between  the  two  great  isles,  the  Desert 
and  the  Ospray,  that  he  slackened  the  boat's  speed. 

Deposits  of  soil,  which  were  promoted  by  the  existence  of 
the  two  islands,  obstructed  the  bed  of  the  river,  which  made 
numerous  windings  in  this  place  ;  and  the  constant  shiftings 
of  the  sandbanks  caused  this  passage  to  be  rightly  looked 
upon  as  one  of  the  most  difficult  between  Angers  and  Nantes. 


18  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

The  Office  of  Buoys  and  Signals  had  consequently  directed 
their  particular  attention  to  it.  By  their'  orders,  large  willow 
boughs  were  stuck  into  the  sand,  and  shifted  at  each  change 
of  deep  channel,  so  as  to  point  out  the  shoals  to  the  barges, 
and  mark  the  proper  course  for  them  to  take.  Francis  went 
from  one  to  the  other,  cleverly  pulling  them  out  and  putting 
them  back  again,  so  as  to  mark  out  the  channel  over  the 
sandbanks.  He  reckoned  that  the  next  morning  Andre  would 
set  off  the  first,  and  that  his  deep-laden  barge,  being  guided 
by  these  false  marks,  could  not  fail  to  run  aground.  By  this 
means,  he  not  only  made  sure  of  an  easy  victory  over  his 
rival,  but  exposed  him  to  the  risk  of  losing  his  vessel,  which 
might  probably  go  to  pieces  on  the  sandbanks ;  and  he  would 
then  be  thrown  back  among  the  hired  bargemen,  on  none  of 
whom,  he  felt  assxired,  would  Meru  ever  bestow  his  niece's 
hand.  At  the  same  time  that  he  was  preparing  this  infa- 
mous snare,  he  examined  the  way  for  himself  through  the 
channel,  in  order  to  pass  it  without  danger ;  and  his  work 
being  completed,  he  got  back  to  his  own  barge  again  with- 
out loss  of  time. 

To  reach  it,  he  had  to  pass  close  by  the  "  Hope,"  which 
was  moored  below  Meru's  boat ;  but  at  the  moment  he  came 
alongside,  a  head  rose  up  from  the  bows.  Francis  stopped  in 
fear,  and  kept  his  wherry  in  the  shadow.  The  head  he  had 
seen  remained  leaning  over  the  waters  for  some  purpose  he 
could  not  make  out.  At  first  he  thought  it  might  be  Andre 
preparing  to  get  under  weigh,  but  he  soon  saw  the  night- 
watcher  raise  himself  up  again,  and  he  recognised  Master 
Jacques  by  his  height. 

In  spite  of  the  cold,  the  laiter  had  taken  off  his  jacket,  and 
held  a  boat-hook  in  his  hand.  Francis  saw  him  pass  along 
the  gunwale,  and  go  softly  back  into  the  cabin.  He  hastened 
to  double  the  barge  and  get  aboard  his  uncle's  boat,  where  he 


THE  BARGEMAN  OF  THE  LOIRE.  19 

found  the  men  still  asleep.  Certain,  then,  that  his  absence  had 
not  been  remarked,  he  crept  back  to  his  bed,  where,  in  a  more 
tranquil  state  than  before,  he  waited  for  the  morning. 

The  first  dawn  of  day  was  just  clearing  away  the  river  mists, 
when  his  companions  awoke  him.  All  was  already  stirring  in 
Andre's  boat,  which,  laden  to  the  water-line,  began  moving 
heavily.  The  young  boatmaster  was  giving  his  orders,  and 
bearing  a  hand  everywhere,  with  that  calm  energy  which  is 
the  great  virtue  of  the  bargeman  of  the  Loire.  The  getting 
imder  sail  was  efi'ected  slowly,  but  without  a  single  false 
move,  and  the  boat  dropped  into  the  current  with  a  kind  of 
careless  confidence. 

"  Well  handled,  my  lad  !"  shouted  a  voice  from  the  bank. 

Andre  turned  round,  and  through  the  morning  mist  recog- 
nised Uncle  Meru  with  his  niece,  who  had  smart  clogs  on, 
and  was  wrapped  in  a  cloak  of  brown  cloth  edged  with  black 
velvet.     He  greeted  them  by  lifting  his  little  glazed  hat. 

"The  'Hope'  asks  your  pardon  for  going  ahead,"  said 
he  merrily ;  "  but  she  has  too  many  nails  in  her  shoes  to 
move  very  fast." 

"  Go  along,  my  boy,"  replied  the  old  bargeman,  waving 
his  hand;  "the  'White  Flag'  will  not  be  long  before  she 
comes  up  with  you." 

And  he  walked  towards  his  own  barge,  telling  his  niece  to 
make  haste  on  board ;  but  she  was  detei-mined  the  young 
boatmaster  should  keep  his  advantage.  Just  as  she  was 
about  to  enter  the  boat,  she  stopped  short,  as  if  recollecting 
something. 

"Oh,  holy  Virgin!"  cried  she,  "I'll  wager,  uncle,  you 
have  forgotten  to  speak  to  the  clergyman  about  the  picture 
you  were  to  bring  him  from  Nantes." 

"  I  have  the  letter  he  wrote  to  the  artist  in  my  pocket- 
book,"  replied  Meru  ;  "  quick,  come  on  board,  my  girl." 


20  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

"And  have  yoii  the  order  for  preserves  for  the  mayor?" 
continued  Entine  without  stirring. 

"  He  does  not  want  them,"  replied  the  boatmaster ;  "  come 
oflp,  I  tell  you." 

"  Still,  you  have  not  wished  your  gossip  3avot  good-bye." 

The  old  boatmaster  stamped  his  foot. 

"  The  deuce  take  all  Bavots  and  babblers  I"  cried  he  ;  "  do 
you  wish  to  keep  us  here  till  the  ice  comes  down  ?  Come  on 
board,  look  you,  or  I  trip  the  anchor." 

"  I  am  coming,  I  am  coming,"  said  the  girl,  who  did  not 
appear  the  least  frightened  at  Meru's  threat.  "  It  was  for 
you  I  was  speaking,  uncle  ;  it  is  all  over  if  you  no  longer  care 
for  the  Bavots  and  their  mild  white  wine." 

The  bargeman,  in  whom  this  last  suggestion  awoke  an  in- 
voluntary regret,  replied  by  a  sailor's  oath  that  was  enough  to 
make  all  the  saints  in  paradise  shudder. 

"  Will  you  hold  your  plaguy  tongue?"  cried  he.  "  I  tell 
you,  if  we  delay  any  longer  we  shall  not  reach  La  Meilleraie 
this  evening.  Look  at  the  'Hope' — see,  she  is  already  in 
the  gullet." 

The  damsel  turned  her  eyes  in  the  direction  he  pointed,  and 
saw  that  Andre's  boat  was  in  fact  just  reaching  the  channel 
between  the  two  isles.  She  thought  she  had  given  him  a 
sufficient  start,  and,  after  a  few  fresh  and  indispensable  delays 
to  look  for  her  travelling  basket,  to  fasten  her  cloak  over 
again,  and  to  take  leave  of  the  hostess  of  the  "  Grand  Turk," 
who  had  just  made  her  appearance,  she  made  up  her  mind  to 
cross  the  plank  which  connected  the  barge  with  the  shore. 

The  bargemen  then  unfastened  the  cables  ;  the  boat,  which 
was  in  ballast,  obeyed  their  first  long  push  ;  it  went  about 
rapidly,  and  was  soon  in  the  middle  of  the  stream,  like  the 
other  vessel,  which  could  be  seen  through  the  mist. 

The  two  bai'ges  had  hoisted  their  sails,  and  were  dropping 


THE  BABGEMAN  OP  THE  LOIRE.  21 

down  the  stream,  but  in  very  unequal  circumstances;  the 
one,  being  heavily  laden,  crept  along  with  difficulty,  and  was 
delayed  by  the  slowness  of  her  movements  every  time  she  had 
to  round  one  of  the  thousand  sandbanks  through  which  the 
channel  wound  its  course ;  the  other,  completely  empty,  glided 
lightly  over  the  water,  and  instantly  obeyed  every  impulse  of 
the  enormous  blade  which  formed  her  rudder.  Consequently 
the  distance  between  the  two  boats  kept  decreasing  every  mo- 
ment. Already  they  were  so  near  Andre's  barge  that  they 
could  distinguish  the  men  who  were  helping  it  along  by  shov- 
ing with  their  iron-shod  poles,  and  the  young  master  who  was 
watching  at  the  helm,  and  striving  to  shorten  the  turns  as 
much  as  he  could.  Meru  showed  him  to  his  nephew,  who 
was  steering  the  "  White  Flag,"  as  he  had  promised. 

"  Look  how  close  that  fine  lad  there  steers,"  said  he,  in  a 
kind  of  admiration ;  "  a  fish  is  not  more  master  of  his  tail  than 
he  is  of  his  rudder.  Come,  Fanfan,  take  care  not  to  do  worse 
than  he,  for  your  honour  as  a  bargeman  is  at  stake.  You 
have  quinte  and  qxiatorze ;  don't  lose  the  game  for  want  of 
point. ^^ 

The  young  boatman  only  answered  by  a  nod.  They  were 
just  running  in  between  the  isles  of  Desert  and  Ospray ;  it 
was  there  that  the  match  would  have  to  be  decided.  He 
held  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  "  Hope,"  which  was  still  keeping 
on  ahead,  at  a  distance  which  was  maintained  by  the  courage 
of  her  crew,  and  her  captain's  skill,  but  which  was  not  so 
great  but  that  they  could  hear  their  voices,  and  even  dis- 
tinguish the  expression  of  their  faces  from  the  "  "White  Flag." 

They  were  just  nearing  the  first  point  when  Master  Jacques 
appeared  by  his  son's  side.  He  had  lost  some  of  that  ghastly 
look  which  drunkenness  had  given  him  the  evening  before, 
and  his  eye  showed  some  intelligence.  He  looked  for  a 
minute  at  the  boat  as  it  dropt  slowly  down  the  stream,  and 


22  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

then  at  the  swelling  waters  as  they  rolled  upon  the  shores, 
and  the  willows  sparkling  with  hoar-frost.  A  faint  colour 
rose  to  his  cheeks,  and  he  snuffed  the  breeze  as  if  he  would 
drink  in  the  air  of  the  Loire. 

"  I  remember  the  place,"  murmured  he ;  "  it  is  now  thirty 
years  ago  since  I  passed  it.  I  was  steering  a  large  boat ;  I 
was  only  twenty-five ;  but  then  the  water  was  more  trans- 
parent, and  the  birds  were  singing  among  the  trees." 

"  Then  has  Master  Jacques  been  a  boatmaster  on  the 
Loire?"  asked  one  of  the  men. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  old  man  with  thoughtful  sadness,  "  those 
were  good  times — neither  ice  nor  sand  could  stop  me  ;  my 
boat  obeyed  me  as  the  ass  obeys  the  miller's  wife." 

The  bargeman  shrugged  his  shoulders  sneeringly. 

"  Well,  here's  a  difference,"  said  he  ;  "  at  present,  it's  my 
notion,  Master  Jacques,  that  it  would  suit  you  better  to  guide 
an  ass  than  a  boat." 

Jacques  looked  up,  and  fire  kindled  in  his  eyes. 

"  Who  told  you  that  ?"  cried  he.  "  Oh,  perhaps  you  think 
I  have  forgotten  the  craft.  By  my  soul,  we  '11  see  that  pre- 
sently. Take  my  jacket ;  and  you,  Andre,  help  them  to  shove 
— I  will  steer." 

He  took  off  his  coat,  and  put  his  hand  upon  the  tiller  ;  but 
his  son  did  not  seem  disposed  to  yield  it  to  him. 

"  Let  be,  let  be,  father,"  said  he,  with  his  eyes  fixed  upon 
the  stream  ;  "  it  is  an  awkward  place  here,  and  needs  a  sharp 
sight." 

"  Well,  we  shall  keep  our  eyes  open,"  replied  Jacques  im- 
patiently. 

"  Wait,"  resumed  the  youth  ;  "  you  shall  take  the  helm 
when  we  have  doubled  the  isles." 

"  And  when  the  boat  can  go  all  alone,"  put  in  the  barge- 
man who  had  questioned  the  old  man's  skill. 


THE  BARGEMAN  OP  THE  LOIRE.  23 

The  latter  drew  himself  up,  and  the  blood  rushed  to  his 

'•e. 

•'  Did  you  hear  me?"  repeated  he  to  Andre. 

"  Wait  one  moment,"  said  the  young  man. 

"  Make  way  for  your  father!"  cried  Master  Jacques,  push- 
ing him  violently  aside.  Then  taking  possession  of  the  helm, 
he  suddenly  gave  the  barge  another  course. 

Andre  tried  to  stop  him,  but  the  old  man  was  as  if  he 
heard  nothing.  His  whole  being  seemed  to  have  undergone 
a  change.  With  his  body  erect,  his  head  thrown  back,  one 
foot  planted  firmly  against  the  gunwale,  and  both  his  hands 
resting  upon  the  helm,  he  had  assumed  such  a  look  of  confi- 
dence and  command,  that  the  youth  stood  amazed.  His  eyes, 
which  were  usually  dulled  by  the  fames  of  drunkenness,  had 
now  an  acnte  and  concentrated  expression ;  and  as  he  fixed 
them  upon  the  stream,  they  seemed  to  pierce  its  veil,  and  to 
read  it  to  the  bottom.  After  having  studied  the  eddies  for  a 
few  minutes,  he  altered  the  course  still  more  decidedly.  The 
boatmen  sang  out  loudly. 

"We  are  leaving  the  channel!"  cried  they  all.  "Look, 
the  barge  is  sailing  right  across  the  safety-marks!" 

"Down  helm,  father,  or  we  shall  be  aground!"  added 
Andre  ;  "  a  starboard,  a  starboard !" 

"Keep  away  a  starboard,"  said  Jacques  in  a  loud  voice, 
without  paying  any  attention  to  his  son's  warning. 

In  fact,  on  that  side  the  boat  was  just  touching  a  shoal. 
The  bargemen  looked  at  one  another  in  surprise. 
•  "  Heaven  help  us !    The  safety-marks  are  not  true,  then  ?" 
cried  the  boatmaster,  leaning  over  the  water  to  see  better. 

"  The  beacons  stand,  and  the  shoals  move,"  said  Jacques. 
"  In  my  time,  they  did  not  write  down  the  bargeman's  course 
with  willow  boughs ;  we  knew  how  to  read  it  upon  the  water. 
A  larboard,  now?  keep  away  a  larboard.      Don't  you  see 


24  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDl^E. 

tte  whirling  waters  and  the  foam,  which  mark  a  sandbank  ? 
Those  marks  are  not  set  by  man's  hands,  and  they  never  lead 
wrong." 

This  time,  the  boatmen  obeyed ;  and  with  their  poles  they 
kept  the  boat  well  off  the  shoal  he  pointed  out.  The  old 
man  went  on  steering  in  this  way,  and  twenty  times  passed 
across  the  line  of  the  beacons,  without  any  other  guide  than 
the  appearance  of  the  currents.  The  crew  were  struck  with 
surprise,  looked  at  him  in  silence,  and  instantly  obeyed  his 
slightest  orders.  At  last  they  reached  the  mouth  of  the  pas- 
sage at  the  end  of  the  two  islands,  and  were  entering  into  the 
main  stream  of  the  Loire,  when  loud  calls  from  the  White 
Flag  made  them  look  round. 

"When  Meru  saw  Master  Jacques  handle  his  barge  so 
strangely,  leaving  the  marked  course  and  going  into  shoal- 
water,  he  mounted  upon  his  seat,  and  for  some  time  followed 
him  with  his  eyes  without  being  able  to  comprehend  what  he 
was  about.  The  bargemen,  too,  leaning  upon  their  iron-shod 
poles,  asked  one  another  what  could  be  his  reason  for  thus 
going  straight  into  danger ;  but  the  most  astonished  and  the 
most  alarmed  of  all  was  Francis,  who  thought  his  trick  had 
been  found  out.  Besides  the  severe  penalties  with  which  the 
navigation  laws  would  punish  it,  he  knew  what  disgrace  it 
would  cover  him  with  in  the  eyes  of  the  whole  "Loire 
service ;"  and  what,  above  all,  would  be  his  uncle  Meru's  in- 
dignation if  he  ever  knew  of  it  ?  These  considerations,  which 
he  had  not  dwelt  upon  as  long  as  he  thought  his  secret  safe, 
came  upon  him  all  at  once  now  that  he  feared  it  was  dis- 
covered. Pale  and  trembling,  he  left  the  rudder  to  one  of 
the  men,  and  hurried  to  the  bows  of  the  barge,  the  better  to 
watch  the  bold  course  of  his  rival's  vessel,  and  not  knowing 
if  he  ought  to  wish  her  success  or  failure.  Meantime,  the 
man  at  the  helm  continued  to  steer  his  own  barge  into  the 


THE  BARGEMAN  OF  THE  LOIRE.  25 

channel  marked  out  by  the  false  beacons.  All  at  once  a 
sudden  shock  lifted  the  bows ;  they  heard  the  grating  of  the 
pebbles  as  they  struck  against  the  keel,  and  the  water 
streamed  in  between  the  started  planks.  The  barge  was 
aground ! 

Though  the  crew  were  in  no  serious  danger,  their  situation 
was  perplexing.  The  stream  being  more  than  usually  shut 
in  just  here,  ran  very  strongly,  and  was  driving  them  more 
and  more  upon  the  sandbank  ;  the  barge  was  even  beginnmg 
to  fall  broadside  on,  and  it  was  to  be  feared  that  in  this  state 
she  could  not  long  bear  up  against  the  violence  of  the  current. 
The  bargemen's  first  attempts  to  get  her  off  were  unsuccessful ; 
they  were  obliged  to  resolve  upon  calling  in  the  assistance  of 
Andre  and  his  crew. 

At  their  first  hail,  the  young  boatmaster  saw  what  had 
happened,  and  hastened  in  his  small  boat  to  Meru's  help. 
They  had  just  taken  in  their  sail,  and  the  barge  being  thus 
freed  from  the  action  of  the  wind,  had  stopped.  Andre  helped 
to  stop  the  leaks,  and  fastened  ropes  to  the  masts,  planks,  and 
oars,  which  he  threw  overboard  to  lighten  the  barge ;  then 
he  and  his  crew  shoving  with  their  poles,  succeeded,  after 
prolonged  exertions,  in  getting  her  off  the  bank,  and  bringing 
her  again  into  the  channel.  He  then  piloted  her  in  the  same 
way  as  he  had  seen  his  father  do,  and  brought  her  alongside 
of  his  own  barge,  to  which  he  then  returned. 

Meru,  who  felt  a  little  humbled  by  the  help  he  had  been 
obliged  to  accept,  briefly  thanked  him,  and  busied  himself  in 
fishing  all  his  spars  up  again  in  order  to  set  sail,  whilst  the 
Charreyonne  lifted  her  grapnel,  and  continued  her  course. 

The  manner  in  which  Master  Jacques  had  just  proved  his 
skill,  had  won  him  Andre's  entire  confidence ;  and  therefore, 
while  he  again  took  his  place  at  the  helm,  he  modestly  asked 
for  instruction  from  the  old  man,  who  accordingly  tauglit  him 


26  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VEND]gE. 

Iiow  to  know  the  depth  of  the  stream,  and  the  coming  of  the 
hidden  shoals,  by  the  colour  of  the  water,  or  by  its  eddies. 
Thanks  to  these  hints,  Andre  was  able  to  diverge  at  intervals 
from  the  regular  channel  marked  by  the  beacons,  to  slant  by 
the  shallows,  and  everywhere  to  take  the  shortest  cuts.  His 
father  seemed  to  have  a  map  of  the  Loire  engraved  in  the 
deepest  recesses  of  his  brain :  he  knew  the  exact  volume  of 
water  in  each  channel  according  to  the  time  of  the  year ; 
stated  the  rates  of  the  currents ;  was  acquainted  with  the  best 
shelters  for  boats  in  case  of  the  ice  coming  down ;  and  told 
the  names  of  every  village  on  each  bank.  The  bargemen 
were  astonished ;  but  Andre  showed  the  most  surprise  of  all. 
He  was  so  little  informed  in  the  affairs  of  his  own  family, 
that  he  scarcely  knew  until  then  that  his  father  had  ever 
belonged  to  "  the  river-service."  He  wo\ild  have  questioned 
him  about  these  past  times,  of  which  he  knew  nothing ;  but 
the  life  and  spirits  of  Master  Jacques  had  already  sunk.  He 
had  seated  himself  at  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  with  his  anns 
folded  and  his  head  bent,  and  only  answered  Yes  or  No,  like 
a  man  half  asleep.  However,  when  his  son  asked  him  what 
could  have  made  him  leave  a  trade  he  knew  so  well,  he  seemed 
to  wake  up  with  a  start :  he  turned  his  eyes  upon  those  about 
him  in  a  sort  of  bewilderment  and  alarm ;  he  moved,  and  half 
opened  his  lips ;  but  the  reply  died  away  without  a  sound,  his 
head  sank  again  upon  his  breast,  and  Andr6  saw  that  he  must 
not  press  his  inquiry  farther. 


THE  BAEGEMAN  OF  THE  LOIRE.  27 


CHAPTER  11. 


A  DISCOVERY. 


The  two  boats  reached  La  Meilleraie  rather  late  in  the 
evening,  and  were  moored  close  together.  Thanks  to  Entine, 
the  vexation  M6ru  felt  on  account  of  his  barge's  mishap  had 
not  lasted  very  long.  When  Andre  met  him  again  at  the  inn, 
all  clouds  had  disappeared  from  his  brow.  The  young  man 
made  no  allusion  to  what  had  passed ;  and  the  old  boatmas- 
ter,  who  appreciated  his  reserve,  paid  him  in  friendliness  what 
he  would  have  found  it  hard  to  pay  him  in  thanks. 

Some  other  boats  were  already  moored  at  La  Meilleraie. 
The  crews  were  acquaintances,  and  had  assembled  to  take 
supper  together.  Master  Jacques  remained  in  the  barge  by 
himself,  making  his  supper,  as  usual,  on  a  few  crusts  of  coarso 
bread  dipped  in  brandy,  which  had  been  brought  to  him. 

At  the  inn,  Meru  had  found  Goodman  Soriel,  the  father  of 
{he  "  service,"  and  who,  in  some  old  business  long  since 
passed  with  a  Nantes  lawyer  who  wished  to  show  his  literary 
attainments,  had  been  named  by  him  the  "Nestor  of  the 
Loire."  His  companions  had  taken  this  Homeric  allusion  of 
the  man  of  law  for  a  physiognomical  nickname,  and  had  un- 
consciously modified  it  by  commonly  calling  him  "Father 
Nez-Tors''  (Wry-Nose).  The  old  bargemaster  had  long  ago 
given  up  navigation,  though  he  happened  to  be  then  taking 


28  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

a  boat  to  Orleans  for  one  of  his  grandsons  who  was  kept  away 
by  sickness. 

Meru  and  he  had  been  acquainted  in  the  La  Vendee  war, 
and  both  remembered  that  their  last  meeting  had  happened  at 
the  very  place  where  they  now  found  themselves  again. 

"  Do  you  remember,  my  lad,"  said  Soriel,  who,  in  right  of 
his  ninety  winters,  called  every  one  lad  who  was  not  as  old  as 
himself;  "it  was  the  day  the  great  army  was  routed?  Do 
you  remember  all  those  miserable  wretches  crowding  together 
on  the  banks,  and  praying  to  God  and  man  to  take  them  over 
to  the  other  side  ?  They  were  full  forty  thousand,  and  there 
were  eight  boats  for  them  all !" 

"  Yes,"  replied  Meru ;  "  then,  too,  to  see  the  women  run 
when  our  boats  came  near !  it  was,  '  Take  my  wounded  hus- 
band— my  father — my  son — this  poor  lad  ! '  The  dear  crea- 
tures never  asked  to  be  taken  themselves." 

"  Oh,  it  was  a  great  day,"  resumed  Soriel.  "  Look  you, 
my  lad,  I  never  think  of  it  without  feeling  a  thrill  to  the  mar- 
row of  my  bones.  It  was  then  I  saw  M.  de  Bonchamp,*  who 
was  just  dying.  The  holy  man  was  so  weak  that  you  could 
hardly  hear  him  speak.  So  he  kept  making  signs  to  the  priest 
who  was  standing  by  him,  to  come  close  in  order  to  hear  him ; 
and  when  the  bystanders  asked  what  he  was  saying,  the  priest 
always  repeated  the  same  thing — '  Don't  kill  the  prisoners.'  " 

"The  'Blues'  killed  plenty  of  ours,  however,"  observed 
Meru  with  bitterness. 

"  As  we  did  theirs,"  replied  the  old  man.  "  At  that  time 
no  one  cared  for  another  man's  life  ;  and  it  is  a  great  wonder 
that  any  one  cared  for  his  own,  for  God  knows  the  diflSculty 
there  was  to  keep  it.  When  you  had  saved  it  from  the  guil- 
lotine or  the  bullet,  you  had  still  to  save  it  from  hunger,  and 

*  The  Eoyalist  army  of  La  VendSe  was  routed,  and  General  Bonchamp  mortally 
wounded,  at  Chollet,  in  1793,  after  which  the  fugitives  crossed  the  river.— Tr. 


THE  BARGEMAN  OF  THE  LOIRE.  29 

that  was  no  little  matter.  We  bargemen  found  even  the 
Loire  had  become  a  field  of  battle.  Here,  the  batteries  sent 
shot  into  us  under  pretence  that  we  were  serving  the  '  Whites ; ' 
there,  the  Eoyalists  fired  upon  us  from  behind  the  willows  un- 
der pretence  that  we  were  carrying  provisions  to  the  '  Blues.' 
So  no  more  boats  appeared  upon  the  river,  and  the  bargemen 
took  to  begging,  unless  they  hired  themselves  to  Carrier." 

"And  became  dr owners !"  cried  Mem.  "Yes,  yes,  I 
know  that  there  have  been  those  in  '  the  river-service '  who 
made  the  Loire  into  a  great  grave  ;  but  as  true  as  I'm  a 
Christian,  if  I  ever  meet  with  one  of  them,  I  will  revenge  the 
innocent  blood  upon  him  with  my  own  hand." 

"  You  will  not  meet  any  of  them  now,"  rejoined  Soriel,  "  as 
all  of  us,  honest  bargemen,  sentenced  them  long  ago  to  go 
ashore,  and  none  of  them  ever  dared  make  their  appearance 
afloat  again,  when  the  penalty  was  being  sent,  as  they  said 
in  those  times,  to  live  in  the  Chateau  d'Au  ;*  but  indeed  it 
was  a  bitter  time  for  every  one,  and  the  best  way  now  is  to 
think  but  little  of  it." 

The  master  of  the  ""White  Flag"  could  not  agree  to  this. 
He  had  passed  through  the  terrible  struggle  of  '93  in  all  the 
vigour  and  glow  of  youth,  so  that  the  general  troubles  were 
blended  in  his  mind  with  the  experiences  proper  to  the  period 
of  his  own  life  in  which  he  had  shared  them.  Moreover,  he 
recalled  his  own  courage  in  battle,  his  steadiness  during  the 
retreat,  his  presence  of  mind  before  the  magistrates  who  were 
going  to  arrest  him,  his  delight  when  he  returned  home  to 
his  mother  without  a  wound,  and  with  the  white  cockade  sewed 
upon  the  breast  of  his  coat.     Each  memory  of  a  misfortune 

*  The  name  of  a  castle  on  the  banks  of  the  Loire.  When  the  prisoners  In  the  famous 
"  Loire  Drownings"  were  on  board  the  scuttled  boats,  if  they  asked  where  they  were 
being  taken,  the  drowners  used  to  answer  by  a  cruel  pun — "  To  the  Chftteau  d'Au." — [A» 
English  executioners  doing  the  like  work  on  the  Thames  might  hare  said,  "  Qoing  by 
water  to  Oiayesend."— 3V.] 


30  HHITTANY  AND  I.A  VENDEE. 

was  in  this  way  connected  with  that  of  a  triumph  or  a  joy  , 
and  those  few  months  of  suffering  had  only,  so  to  say,  proved 
to  him  what  he  could  do,  and  what  he  was  worth.  Thus  he 
spoke  of  that  time  with  a  warmth  which,  though  he  knew  it 
not,  was  mainly  the  expression  of  contented  pride. 

As  the  bargemen  were  hut  slightly  interested  in  this  dis- 
cussion, they  left  the  table  one  after  the  other ;  and  Andre 
himself  observing  that  Entine  had  disappeared,  resolved  to  re- 
turn to  the  boat.  When  he  reached  it,  Master  Jacques  was 
already  asleep  in  the  cabin  with  the  rest  of  the  barge's  crew. 

The  young  captain,  whose  blood  was  all  alive,  and  his  brain 
at  work,  was  not  inclined  to  join  them  yet.  He  wrapped  him- 
self in  his  goatskin  cape,  and  began  walking  up  and  down 
on  the  tarpaulin  which  covered  the  cargo,  and  formed  a 
deck. 

The  cold  was  now  less  bitter,  and  the  night  darker :  scarcely 
did  a  few  stars  beam  with  a  faint  glimmer  through  the  dark- 
ness. The  fog  hung  upon  the  weeping  willows,  and  crept 
over  the  Loire,  which  hei^  and  there  looked  like  a  mirror  be- 
neath the  starlight.  It  seemed  to  Andre  that  the  waters  had 
risen,  and  that  every  now  and  then  he  heard  a  slight  dashing 
noise  ;  but  he  scarcely  heeded  it — his  thoughts  were  busy 
elsewhere. 

The  last  few  days  he  had  passed  in  the  presence  and  society 
of  Meru's  niece  had  revived  a  love  already  of  old  date,  and 
reawakened  his  impatience  to  know  what  he  ought  to  hope 
for.  Though  the  opportunities  of  meeting  Entine  had  been 
frequent,  the  maiden's  good-will  towards  him  apparently 
plain,  and  he  quite  ready  to  believe  that  he  should  find  no 
objection  on  her  part,  he  had  not  yet  proposed  himself.  The 
time  seemed  to  him  now  come  ;  he  had  only  to  find  a  favour- 
able opportunity  and  a  proper  way  of  introducing  the  subject. 
But  besides  a  mutual  shyness,  he  felt  that  sort  of  anxiety 


THE  BARGEMAN  OF  THE  LOIRE.  31 

which  accompanies  all  great  resolves.  The  question  at  issue 
was  of  an  engagement  in  which  his  whole  life  was  concerned, 
which  would  be  the  occasion  of  lasting  peace  or  trouble — of 
happiness  or  misery  to  him  ;  therefore  he  at  once  desired  and 
dreaded  the  interview  that  must  decide  his  fate. 

Leaning  against  the  boat's  mast  with  folded  arms  and 
wandering  eyes,  he  was  conning  over  for  the  hundredth  time 
the  same  doubts,  without  clearing  them  up,  when  a  light 
rustling  made  him  turn  his  head.  Some  one  had  come  out  of 
the  cabin  of  the  "  White  Flag,"  and  was  advancing  towards 
the  "  Hope,"  which  it  was  necessary  to  pass  across  in  order  to 
reach  the  shore.  Andre  recognised  Meru's  niece  by  her  light 
and  graceful  step,  in  spite  of  the  darkness.  She  stepped  over 
the  seats  of  the  boat  timidly  and  cautiously,  and  was  about  to 
set  her  foot  in  the  second,  boat,  when  a  movement  of  the  boat- 
master  made  her  give  a  little  cry. 

"What  are  you  afraid  of,  Entine?"  said  the  youth  in  a 
very  gentle  voice,  and  advancing  a  step  towards  her  ;  "  don't 
you  know  me?" 

Although  his  tone  ought  to  have  encouraged  the  damsel, 
she  seemed  still  more  disconcerted,  drew  back,  and  answered 
hastily,  as  if  her  presence  in  the  boat  at  such  an  hour  needed 
some  excuse,  that  she  had  just  been  for  her  travelling  basket, 
which  she  had  forgotten  in  the  cabin  of  the  barge. 

"  Are  you  afraid  that  you  will  be  accused  of  coming  here 
to  meet  me  ?"  asked  Andre  with  a  tender  smile. 

"  Oh,  that  would  be  very  unjust,"  replied  she,  "  for  I 
thought  yoii  were  still  at  the  inn  with  my  uncle." 

"When  you  were  gone,  there  was  no  reason  for  me  to  stay," 
answered  the  young  bargeman  ;  "  but  since  I  have  found  you 
here.  Heaven  must  have  sent  me  back." 

"  Perhaps  so,  master,"  said  Eiitine,  who,  notwithstanding 
her  confusion,  could  not  resist  a  joTce  ;  "  but  as  Heaven  does 


32  BEITTANY  AKD  LA  VENDEE. 

not  usually  send  bargemen  to  damsels  as  if  they  were  guardian 
angels,  any  one  who  found  us  talking  together  at  this  time  of 
night,  might  think  you  were  sent  on  another's  account." 

"Whose,  pray?" 

"The  devil's!" 

"  Well,  that  would  he  a  great  mistake,"  cried  Andrd,  smil- 
ing in  spite  of  himself;  "for  I  am  come — I  am  come  on  my 
own." 

"  That,  you  know,  is  nearly  the  same  thing,"  interrupted 
the  damsel  merrily.  "  Come,  Andre,  let  me  pass  ;  the  boat's 
crew  may  come  back  with  my  uncle,  and  then  I  should  be 
quite  disgraced." 

"  No,"  said  the  bargeman,  approaching  her,  and  causing 
her  to  retreat  towards  the  end  of  her  own  vessel ;  "  you  shall 
not  go  away  in  this  manner  without  having  heard  me.  It 
was  but  just  now  that  I  was  asking  myself  how  I  could  find 
an  opportunity  of  speaking  to  you ;  and  since  my  patron  saint 
has  given  it  me,  I  will  not  leave  you  without  having  told  you 
of  the  wound  I  have  in  my  heart." 

"  It's  of  no  use,"  interrupted  the  damsel  slyly ;  "  I  only 
know  receipts  for  chilblains.  Master  Andre.  You  must  go  to 
La  Merode  of  Chalonnes — she  knows  words  that  will  cure  like 
balm." 

"  You  only  can  say  those  that  can  comfort  me,"  said  the 
young  man  sadly  and  tenderly.  "  Do  not  pretend  to  misun- 
derstand me,  Entine ;  do  not  play  with  my  trouble,  like  the 
cat  with  the  bird  she  keeps  under  her  claws.  I  am  so  afraid 
of  displeasing  you,  that  I  am  always  silenced  at  once  by  you. 
So  you  can  amuse  yourself  as  you  like  with  me  without  my 
being  able  to  answer  you ;  but  there  is  no  true  bravery  in 
that,  and  you  should  not  use  your  wit  against  a  lad  who 
would  find  it  easier  to  give  you  his  blood  drop  by  drop  than 
to  ask  you  if  you  will  have  his  love." 


THE  BARGEMAN  OF  THE  LOIRE.  33 

His  tone  was  so  frank,  yet  so  full  of  feeling,  that  the  damsel 
was  much  affected  by  it.  With  a  movement  so  quick  that  it 
seemed  involnnt^iiy,  she  seized  the  young  bargeman's  arm 
and  uttered  his  name,  almost  weeping.  Andre  drew  her  to- 
wards him  with  a  joyful  exclamation,  and  was  going  to  repeat 
his  question  ;  but  all  at  once  she  started,  made  a  sign  to  him 
with  her  finger  to  be  silent,  and  turned  towards  the  other 
boat. 

"  What  is  it?"  asked  the  young  man. 

"I  thought — that  some  one  was  listening,"  whispered 
Entine. 

"Wliere?" 

"  There,  in  your  boat.  I  heard  a  step,  and  it  seemed  to 
me  as  if  a  shadow  passed." 

Andre  mounted  the  side  to  see  better.  All  was  silent  in 
his  own  barge ;  the  shore  was  deserted,  and  the  inn-windows 
were  bright.  He  endeavoured  to  reassure  the  maiden,  by 
bidding  her  recollect  that  all  his  crew  were  asleep,  that  those 
of  the  "White  Flag"  were  still  sitting  with  her  uncle  and 
Father  Soriel,  and  that  consequently  they  had  nothing  to 
fear.  Then,  emboldened  by  Entine's  silence,  he  spoke  to  her 
more  freely  of  his  love,  and  told  her  of  his  plans  and  his  hopes. 
The  maiden,  who  was  evidently  struggling  between  uneasi- 
ness and  affectionj"  had  seated  herself  upon  the  last  bench, 
with  her  eyes  cast  down ;  whilst  Andre,  bending  towards  her, 
pressed  for  an  answer. 

"  In  the  name  of  the  saints,  Entine,"  said  he,  after  having 
exhausted  all  his  own  assurances  of  love,  "  say  one  word,  one 
single  word,  to  relieve  my  anxiety.  I  ask  nothing  you  need 
ever  be  ashamed  of.  If  you  could  see  to  the  bottom  of  my 
heart,  you  would  know  that  I  am  speaking  to  you  as  I  would 
to  the  priest  who  has  known  and  taught  me  from  a  child. 

The  maiden  raised  her  head ;  her  face  wore  a  more  serious 


34  BBITTANY  AKD  LA  VENDUE. 

expression  than  the  bargeman  had  ever  seen  on  it  before ;  she 
turned  upon  him  an  open  look,  and  full  of  feeling. 

"  I  believe  you,  Andre,"  she  said  in  a  very  tender  tone. 
"  I  know  you  are  a  man  of  good  name,  and  a  good  heart,  who 
would  not  take  pleasure  in  deceiving  a  poor  girl  whose  father 
and  mother  are  in  their  grave ;  so  I  shall  not  answer  you 
with  stories,  such  as  lads  and  girls  usually  tell  each  other. 
Ever  since  I  have  known  you,  I  have  seen  nothing  but  true 
manliness  and  real  honesty  in  you.  I  esteem  you  more  than 
I  do  any  other  of  your  age ;  and  I  shall  not  need  much  to 
induce  me  to  show  you  I  love  you ;  but  my  uncle  must  first 
give  his  consent.  Orphan  as  I  am,  I  have  no  other  guardian, 
and  I  will  obey  him  in  everything.  Gain  his  consent,  and 
I  can  promise  you,  my  dear  Andre,  that  you  will  very  soon 
have  mine." 

"  All  in  good  time,"  cried  a  third  voice. 

And  Uncle  Meru,  who  had  crossed  without  noise  over  the 
tarpaulin  of  the  first  barge,  cleared  the  boat's  side,  and  came 
upon  them  at  once.  He  was  followed  by  Father  Soriel  and 
Francis,  the  latter  of  whom  held  back  a  little,  with  a  foolish 
and  sullen  look. 

The  two  young  people  showed  some  alarm  at  the  surprise. 
Meru  went  up  to  his  niece  and  took  her  hand. 

"  You  have  just  given  a  good  honest  answer,"  said  he  with 
feeling ;  "  and  I  wish  that  all  the  bargemen  of  the  Loire 
could  have  heard  it ;  kiss  me — you  are  a  good  girl." 

Entine  threw  her  arms  round  his  neck. 

"  Only,"  added  the  boatmaster,  "  it  would  have  been  better 
to  have  said  it  in  some  other  place,  and  at  another  time ; 
private  conversations  by  moonlight  are  not  good  for  the 
health." 

Andre  hastened  to  explain  that  their  meeting  had  been 
quite  by  accident. 


THE  BARGEMAN  OF  THE  LOIRE.  35 

"  That's  another  thing,  then,"  said  Father  Soriel ;  "  and 
Francis  told  a  lie  when  he  came  to  give  us  notice  that  you 
had  planned  a  meeting  in  the  '  White  Flag.'  " 

"  Then  it  was  he  I  heard  there  just  now,"  said  Entine 
quickly.;  "  may  Heaven  forgive  him !  But  if  he  thought  I 
was  to  blame,  he  had  better  have  come  and  told  me  so,  like  a 
good  cousin,  instead  of  sneaking  off  and  carrying  tales." 

Francis  looked  down  without  answering. 

"  No  more  reproaches,"  said  Meru ;  "  the  sad  fellow  is 
sufficiently  punished  by  not  being  to  your  fancy." 

"  And  that  he  may  be  more  so,  you  must  give  the  pretty 
one  leave  to  follow  the  current  of  her  own  wishes,"  resumed 
old  Soriel.     "  Come  now,  what  can  you  object  to  in  Andre?" 

"  Nothing,"  replied  Entine's  uncle. 

"  Then  it's  all  settled,"  cried  the  old  man  merrily ;  "  I 
invite  myself  to  the  wedding ;  and  I  mean  to  be  a  brides- 
man." 

The  master  of  the  "  White  Flag"  held  out  his  hand  to 
Andre,  who  seized  it  with  such  a  lively  transport  of  joy,  that 
he  could  only  stammer  out  a  few  words  of  thanks ;  he  was 
choked  by  his  feelings.  The  maiden,  leaning  on  her  uncle's 
shoulder,  smiled  and  wept  at  once  ;  the  "  father  of  the  barge- 
men "  himself  wiped  his  eyes  with  the  back  of  his  wrinkled 
hand. 

"  Come,  come,  enough  of  this,"  said  he  ;  "  these  youthful 
fancies  touch  you  still,  though  they  are  over  with  you.  Let 
the  tree  be  never  so  old,  good  Meru,  there  is  always  a  little 
sap  left ;  and  if  you  bring  it  near  the  fire,  it  begins  to  work. 
But  see,  it's  almost  midnight,  and  it's  my  notion  that  things 
are  so  far  settled  that  we  may  put  off  the  rest  till  to-morrow, 
and  go  to  bed,  especially  as  here  comes  one  who  may  hear  us." 

"  It  is  my  fiither,"  observed  Andre. 

"Master  Jacques?"  repeated  Meru;  "bless  me,  we  had 


36  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

forgotten  him,  good  people !  My  leave  is  not  enougli  for  you 
to  marry  Entine  ;  you  must  have  your  father's  too." 

"  I  am  ready  to  do  ray  duty,"  replied  Andre,  going  forward 
from  the  boat's  stern  to  meet  his  father ;  "whilst  old  Soriel, 
foreseeing  a  family  conference,  discreetly  withdrew  and  rejoined 
Francis. 

In  the  meantime.  Master  Jacques  having  come  out  of  the 
cabin,  had  proceeded  towards  the  mast  of  the  barge,  slowly 
taken  off  his  jacket,  and  thrown  it  on  a  coil  of  ropes.  He 
then  took  up  a  boat-hook,  examined  the  iron  point,  and  stood 
still  for  a  few  moments,  as  if  he  were  waiting  for  a  signal. 
All  at  once  the  sound  of  a  clock  was  heard,  and  the  twelve 
strokes  echoed  through  the  distance.  Master  Jacques  seemed 
to  count  them,  and  then  walked  towards  the  end  of  the 
boat.  Just  then  Andre  came  up  to  him  and  addressed  him  ; 
but  he  appeared  to  hear  nothing,  went  on,  passed  in  front  of 
Meru,  and  placed  himself  on  the  side  of  the  farther  barge. 
By  the  light  of  the  stars,  now  shining  more  clearly  again, 
they  could  perceive  his  livid  face,  his  half-open  and  apparently 
breathless  lips,  and  his  glazed  eyes,  which  he  kept  fixed  upon 
the  water ;  he  seemed  like  a  corpse  come  forth  from  the  grave 
to  fulfil  some  unearthly  achievement,  Entine,  quite  frightened, 
retreated,  with  a  stifled  cry,  behind  her  uncle ;  and  Andre, 
who  had  joined  them  again,  looked  at  his  father  in  alarm. 

"  May  Heaven  protect  us  ! "  said  he  at  last.  "  His  mind  is 
awake  without  having  given  his  body  notice.  I  recollect  now, 
that  in  my  childhood  my  mother  often  got  up  to  follow  him." 

"He  is  a  somnambulist,"  said  Meru,  with  a  sort  of  fear 
mixed  with  pity.  "Poor  man,  some  shepherd  of  Sologne 
must  have  put  a  spell  upon  him !" 

"  Look,  look!  what  is  he  doing  there?"  asked  the  maiden, 
coming  closer  to  Meru. 

Master  Jacques  had  just  lifted  up  his  iron-shod  pole,  and 


THE  BARGEMAN  OF  THE  LOIRE.  37 

was  dashing  it  furiously  into  the  water.  As  he  ran  from  one 
end  of  the  barge  to  the  other,  he  looked  as  if  he  were  watch- 
ing for  some  invisible  object  which  he  was  trying  to  reach ; 
and  at  every  blow  of  his  pole,  broken  words  escaped  his  lips. 

"  Still  another  ! — well  hit !  Here  :  and  here  again  !  Heads 
everywhere,  everywhere!" 

"Do  you  hear?"  asked  Entine's  uncle,  taking  Andre's 
arm  ;  "  what  does  he  mean?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  the  youth  in  a  low  tone,  and  growing 
pale. 

Mem  beckoned  to  Soriel  to  come  near,  and  showed  him 
Master  Jacques.  The  old  man  looked  astonished,  seemed 
endeavouring  to  recollect  something,  then,  with  a  start,  he 
murmured — 

"It  is  he!" 

"Who?"  asked  Meru. 

"  Down  with  you ! "  intemipted  the  sleep-walker,  continu- 
ing to  strike  into  the  water — "  down  with  the  rascals !" 

"That's  it,"  cried  the  old  man;  "lie  is  dreaming  of  the 
scuttled  barges :  he  thinks  he  is  assisting  at  Carrier's  mar- 
riages !  Yes,  yes,  I  recollect  him  :  he  is  Jacques  the 
'drowner'  I" 

This  dreadful  discovery  was  received  by  as  many  exclama- 
tions as  there  were  persons  to  hear  it ;  but  with  Entine  and 
Andre  it  was  an  expression  of  surprise  and  grief — with  Mem, 
one  of  anger.  He  sprang  towards  Master  Jacques,  whom  he 
seized  round  the  body,  and  would  have  thrown  into  the  Loire 
if  the  old  boatmaster  had  not  prevented  him. 

"  Let  go.  Father  Soriel,  let  go !"  cried  he,  struggling.  "  I 
have  sworn  that  the  day  one  of  these  villains  should  cross  ray 
path,  I  would  free  '  the  river-service '  of  him  ! " 

Again  he  tried  to  seize  the  sleep-walker,  whom  the  violence 
of  this  attack  had  just  awoke.     Andr6  threw  himself  before 


38  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDl^E. 

him,  and  begged  him  to  spare  his  father.  At  the  sound  of 
his  voice,  the  bargeman's  fury  seemed  to  change  its  direction, 
and  turn  with  all  its  force  upon  the  young  man. 

"Oh,  so  you  defend  him!"  cried  he.  "It  might  be  ex- 
pected :  you  are  of  the  same  breed.  You  approve  of  what  he 
has  done,  and  would  do  the  same  if  the  opportunity  offered ! 
Wolf's  blood  will  always  show  itself!" 

"  Do  not  speak  so.  Master  Meru,"  inten-upted  Andre  gently ; 
"  you  know  very  well  that  just  now  I  cannot  answer  you,  be- 
cause he  who  gave  me  life  is  concerned,  and  God  commands 
me  to  respect  him." 

"  And  did  He  command  you  also  to  get  my  good-will  by 
false  pretences?  Why  did  you  conceal  from  me  whose  son 
you  were?" 

"  Because  I  did  not  know  it  myself." 

Meru  looked  incredulous. 

"As  I  hope  to  be  saved,  I  did  not  know  it!"  resumed  the 
youth  energetically.  "  He  whom  Master  Soriel  has  just  recog- 
nised can  tell  you  the  same." 

" Dare  you  appeal  to  the  'drowner'  as  a  witness?"  cried 
the  bargeman. 

"  We  must  take  witnesses  as  they  are ;  we  cannot  choose 
them.  Master  Meru,"  said  Andre  in  a  low  tone. 

"  That  may  be,"  said  the  master  of  the  White  Flag ;  "  but 
an  uncle  who  has  the  care  of  a  niece  under  age  may  choose 
her  husband,  I  suppose  ?  Well,  sooner  than  give  mine  to  the 
son  of  one  of  Carrier's  butchers,  I  would  take  her,  look  you, 
with  a  millstone  round  her  neck,  to  the  great  arch  of  Pirmil 
Bridge,  and  throw  her  headlong  into  the  Loire." 

Entine  uttered  a  low  cry,  and  Andre  tried  to  speak  ;  but 
the  boatmaster  did  not  give  him  time.  He  put  his  arm  round 
his  niece's  waist,  and  without  waiting  for  anything  more, 
drew  her  towards  the  inn,  followed  by  Soriel  and  Francis. 


THE  BARGEMAN  OP  THE  LOIRE.  89 

The  young  bargeman  felt  stunned  by  wbat  had  just  hap- 
pened, and  seated  himself  on  the  edge  of  the  boat,  with  his 
head  between  his  two  hands.  The  transitions  from  doubt  to 
joy,  and  from  joy  to  despair,  had  been  so  sudden,  that  he  had 
need  of  a  few  moments  to  collect  himself.  However,  this  sort 
of  weakness  did  not  last  long ;  he  threw  it  off  by  a  strong 
effort,  and  recollecting  his  father,  he  looked  round  him,  but 
Master  Jacques  was  no  longer  there.  The  moment  he  found 
himself  alone,  he  had  silently  put  on  his  jacket  again,  gone 
on  shore,  and  taken  on  foot  the  road  to  Nantes. 

After  looking  for  him  in  vain  in  the  barge  and  on  shore, 
Andre  returned  to  the  former,  there  to  wait  for  morning. 
The  painful  revulsions  of  mind  he  had  just  experienced, 
kept  him  awake  a  long  time ;  it  was  only  when  the  night  was 
just  past  that  fatigue  got  the  better  of  him,  and  he  fell  asleep. 
His  eyes  opened  again  as  the  first  morning  rays  fell  upon 
them  through  the  chinks  in  the  cabin ;  and  still  drowsy,  he 
raised  himself  upon  his  elbow  with  a  sigh.  Then  all  the  re- 
collections of  the  night  came  back  upon  him  at  once  as  he 
awoke,  and  with  them  all  his  bitter  grief.  He  could  doubt 
it  no  longer — all  was  indeed  at  an  end  for  him ;  for  he  knew 
M^ru  and  Entine  well  enougli  to  be  sure  he  could  expect 
nothing  either  from  the  disobedience  of  the  one,  or  the  justice 
of  the  other.  The  maiden  would  remain  submissive  till  death 
itself,  from  a  spirit  of  duty ;  the  boatmaster  inexorable,  from 
a  spirit  of  party.  Thus  all  his  hopes — so  long  brooded  upon 
in  secret,  hatched  with  such  anxiety,  and  which  he  had  seen 
the  evening  before  ready  to  take  wing — had  now  fallen  to  the 
earth  for  ever,  struck  by  death  I 

He  would  not  dwell  upon  this  thought,  which  would  have 
deprived  him  of  all  courage ;  and  he  hastened  to  get  up,  and 
make  preparations  for  starting. 

Meru's  crew  had  already  finished  theirs,  and  he  looked  at 


40  BKITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

tlieir  boat  as  she  glided  alongside  of  his  own,  with  her  sails 
set.  Meru  was  at  the  helm ;  Francis  was  sitting  in  the  bows 
with  his  bagpipe,  as  if  he  were  on  his  way  to  some  new 
threshingiloor,  or  some  village  festival.  As  he  passed,  he 
gave  the  young  boatmaster  a  scowling  look  of  insolent  triumph. 
Andre  did  not  answer  it :  his  eye  was  seeking  for  the  maiden, 
whom  he  could  not  see  anywhere.  Doubtless  she  was  keep- 
ing herself  shut  up  in  the  cabin,  to  avoid  the  pang  of  this  last 
meeting.  The  young  boatmaster  felt  his  heart  bursting ;  but 
he  overcame  his  emotion,  and  not  seeing  any  of  his  own  crew 
with  him,  he  went  to  the  inn  to  call  them. 

At  the  moment  he  entered,  all  the  bargemen  then  at  La 
Meilleraie  were  assembled  round  Father  Soriel,  and  were 
talking  eagerly.  At  sight  of  him,  they  stopped  speaking; 
those  who  had  looked  at  him  turned  away  their  eyes,  and 
room  was  made  by  the  party  as  if  they  wished  to  leave  him 
the  place  to  himself.  Andre  had  a  vague  iinpression  that 
they  had  just  come  to  some  determination  with  regard  to  him- 
self, and  the  blood  mounted  to  his  face ;  but  he  did  not  suffer 
himself  to  be  daunted.  He  looked  round  for  his  crew,  and 
gave  them  notice  that  the  vessel  was  about  to  sail.  The 
bargemen  turned  away  their  heads  without  ansAvering,  and 
kept  their  places.  The  young  man  was  surprised,  and  repeated 
what  he  had  said,  ordering  them  to  follow  him.  The  sailors, 
who  were  evidently  perplexed,  looked  at  Father  Soriel.  The 
latter  then  stepped  towards  the  master  of  The  Hope  as  their 
spokesman. 

"  We  were  talking  of  you,  Andre,"  said  he  gravely  ;  "  and 
you  are  come  at  the  right  time." 

The  young  man  was  struck  by  the  absence  of  the  familiar 
"  thou,"  which  among  the  bargemen  of  the  Loire  is  not  only 
a  custom,  but  a  binding  symbol  of  brotherhood. 

"  You  know  that  '  the  river-service '  have  determined  to 


THE  BARGEMAN  OF  THE  LOIRE.  41 

have  nothing  to  do  with  the  '  drowners,' "  resumed  the  old 
boatmaster,  who  seemed  to  be  choosing  his  words;  "every 
true  bargeman  has  sworn  to  expel  them  from  the  barges,  and 
to  keep  no  terms  with  them.  Now,  you  cannot  keep  this 
oath,  since  Jacques  is  your  father." 

"Well?"  interrupted  Andre,  getting  irritated  by  the  old 
man's  slowness. 

"  Well,"  resumed  he,  with  hesitation,  "  those  who  cannot 
obey  the  laws  of  the  river  brethren,  cannot  belong  to  them 
either." 

"That's  to  say,  then,"  said  the  young  man,  his  heart  beat- 
ing violently,  "  that  you  mean  to  prevent  my  plying  on  the 
river?" 

Soriel  shook  his  head.  "  Nobody  can  bar  the  river  to  the 
barge,"  replied  he ;  "  but  no  brother  belonging  to  '  the  river 
service '  may  henceforth  help  to  work  her." 

"Yes,  speak  out!"  cried  Andre,  striking  his  hands  one 
against  the  other.  "  Say  at  once,  that  you  want  to  get  rid  of 
a  boatmaster  who  has  too  much  pluck  and  spirit  for  you ;  that 
you  gain  over  his  crew  to  stop  him  on  his  voyage  ;  that  you 
make  use  of  the  sentence  passed  against  Master  Jacques  to 
ruin  my  boat." 

"No,  no;  as  I'm  a  man,  it  is  not  thatl"  interrupted  an 
athletic  bargeman,  with  a  face  of  copper.  "  The  old  man 
wanted  to  soften  matters,  and  he  has  confounded  them  all. 
— The  truth  I  I  am  going  to  tell  it  you  myself.  We  Loire 
bargemen  have  our  honour  to  keep  up,  and  we  will  not  have 
people  of  bad  name  among  us.  We  turned  out  your  father 
because  he  was  a  rascal ;  we  turn  you  out  because  you  are 
your  father's  son." 

The  bargemen  confirmed  what  was  said  by  a  murmur  of 
approbation.  Andre,  who  had  become  very  pale,  looked 
round  him  with  flashing  eyes. 


42  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

"  Be  it  so,"  said  he  in  a  voice  trembling  with  anger ;  "  this 
is  what  you  should  have  told  me  at  once.  Now  I  see  that 
the  noble  corps  of  the  Loire  bargemen  punishes  the  children 
for  tlio  fathers.  A  man  may,  indeed,  without  risk  be  a  drone, 
like  Barral ;  a  drunkard,  like  Henriot ;  a  freebooter,  like 
Morel ;  a  fool,  like  Ardouin  ; — but  to  be  worthy  of  keeping 
among  you,  he  must  at  least  be  no  man's  son,  like  Gros- 
Jean!" 

These  personal  taunts,  addressed  to  each  of  the  boatmen 
present,  raised  a  loud  outcry  among  them ;  they  all  answered 
with  insults  or  threats,  and  Gros-Jean  came  up  to  the  young 
boatmaster  with  clenched  fists.  Father  Soriel  threw  himself 
between  them,  and  tried  to  pacify  them ;  but  for  some  time 
his  voice  was  unheard  amidst  the  noise  of  their  angry  words. 
Andre,  with  his  back  against  the  wall,  looked  defiance  at  all 
his  enemies ;  and  a  fight  seemed  inevitable,  when  the  sound 
of  a  horn  coming  from  the  Loire,  with  a  long,  melancholy 
note,  reached  the  inn.     Every  voice  stopped,  as  if  by  magic. 

"  Do  you  hear  that,  men?"  cried  Soriel. 

"It  is  the  warning  horn!"  replied  the  bargemen,  rushing 
towards  the  door  and  window. 

A  small  boat  passed  rapidly  down,  with  the  blue  and  yellow 
flag  at  the  mast. 

"  The  ice  is  out !  the  ice  is  out ! "  repeated  the  bargemen  in 
one  breath. 

And  without  thinking  more  of  Andre,  they  all  went  out 
and  ran  to  their  boats,  which  they  made  haste  to  unmoor,  and 
were  very  soon  under  sail  for  their  destination,  which  they 
hoped  to  reach  before  the  ice  was  upon  them. 

The  young  boatmaster,  too,  returned  to  his  vessel.  But, 
deserted  as  he  was  by  his  crew,  it  was  impossible  for  him  to 
follow  the  rest;  and  therefore,  after  having  secured  her  as 
well  as  he  could  by  surrounding  her  with  poles,  planks,  and 


THE  BARGEMAN  OF  THE  LOIRE.  43 

spars,  he  went  to  the  helm,  and  leant  his  head  upon  his  elbow. 
His  boat,  deserted,  dark,  and  still,  was  the  only  one  left  in 
the  little  port,  while  he  saw  at  various  distances  the  sails  of 
those  just  gone,  gliding  down  the  river ;  and  far  off  through 
the  morning  mist,  he  could  still  discern  the  dim  outline  of  a 
barge,  from  whence  came  the  distant  sounds  of  a  bagpipe. 
It  was  Master  M6ru's  vessel,  hastening  towards  Nantes,  and 
carrying  away  with  Entine  all  the  hopes  of  his  life. 


44  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VEND]fiE. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  ICE. 

Whilst  Andre  was  compelled  to  remain  at  La  Meilleraie 
by  the  sort  of  interdict  his  comrades  had  put  upon  him,  Master 
Jacques  went  on  his  road,  and  arrived  at  Nantes,  whither  he 
had  been  summoned  by  the  mysterious  letter  which  had  in- 
duced him  to  leave  Saint-George. 

It  was  the  first  time  for  more  than  twenty  years  that  he 
had  seen  this  town,  which  for  him  was  connected  with  so 
many  gloomy  recollections.  He  passed  through  it  quickly, 
and  directed  his  steps  towards  a  well-known  suburb,  on  reach- 
ing the  outskirts  of  which,  he  at  last  saw  before  him  the 
house  he  was  bound  for. 

Standing  alone,  and  beyond  all  the  other  houses,  it  looked 
like  a  sentry  advanced  into  the  country.  A  very  high  wall, 
the  top  of  which  was  bristling  with  broken  glass,  completely 
surrounded  it,  so  that  the  ridge  of  the  roof  alone  was  visible. 
When  he  saw  it,  Master  Jacques  slackened  his  steps  ;  for  the 
blood  seemed  to  curdle  in  his  veins.  This  lonely  house  he 
had  often  visited  during  those  dreadful  days,  the  memory 
of  which  haunted  him  in  his  sleep.  There  lived  in  it  then 
the  same  man  whom  he  was  going  to  find  there  now  :  he  was 
the  last  survivor  of  that  formidable  tribunal  who  had  organized 
the  reign  of  terror  in  the  West,  and  had  opened  at  Nantes 


THE  BARGEMAN  OP  THE  LOIRE.  45 

an  artery,  by  which  the  blood  of  La  Vendee  was  poured  out. 
Thrown  into  the  vortex  of  the  Eevohition  at  an  age  when  the 
passions  fever  the  imagination,  and  when  ignorance  of  actual 
life  always  hurries  the  mind  into  theoiy,  he  had  shown  him- 
self inflexible  in  what  he  believed  to  be  truth,  and  inexorable 
in  his  means  of  making  it  triumph.  Of  a  violent  and  gloomy 
nature,  he  mistook  his  own  headstrong  will  for  principle ;  he 
had  at  first,  as  so  many  others  have  done,  confused  his  con- 
science by  his  exaggerated  language,  and  then  been  led  on  to 
realize  this  language  in  action,  till  he  had  fallen  from  crime 
to  crime  into  the  lowest  depths  of  the  abyss.  His  punishment 
had  been  terrible :  he  had  been  driven  from  the  society  of 
men,  and  condemned  for  the  last  twenty-five  years  to  keep 
revolving  his  past  life,  like  Ixion's  wheel,  in  his  isolated  abode, 
of  which  public  opinion  had  constituted  itself  the  jailor. 

After  hesitating  a  few  moments,  Master  Jacques  went  round 
the  wall  to  look  for  a  little  half-hidden  door,  at  which  he 
knocked.  Nobody  came,  and  he  had  to  repeat  the  knock 
twice  ;  at  last  he  heard  the  creaking  of  a  slow  step  on  the 
gravel  of  the  garden-walk,  and  a  feeble  and  broken  voice 
asked  him  what  he  wanted. 

"  Open  the  door,"  replied  Master  Jacques ;  "  I  am  the  per- 
son you  expect." 

The  bolts  were  slowly  drawn  one  after  the  other,  and  the 
door  opened  enough  to  admit  the  "  drowner,"  who  saw  before 
him  an  old  woman  in  a  nun's  dress. 

"  Sister  Clara ! "  cried  he,  taking  off  his  hat. 

"  Who  names  me  ?"  asked  the  nun. 

"  What !  am  I  so  altered  that  you  do  not  recollect  my  face 
again?"  replied  the  "drowner,"  astonished. 

The  old  nun  raised  her  eyes  upon  him ;  they  were  as  stony 
as  those  of  a  statue. 

"Sister  Clara  can  see   no  face   any  more,"  replied  she. 


46  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VEND]fiE. 

coldly ;  "  bnt  your  voice  seems  like — ^yes,  you  are  Cousin 
Jacques  I     Come,  come,  he  is  in  a  hurry  to  see  you." 

She  walked  before  him  with  the  help  of  a  little  holly  stick, 
with  which  she  felt  her  way.  Jacques  could  hardly  recognise 
the  garden  as  they  passed  through  it.  The  borders,  formerly 
so  carefully  tended,  were  lost  among  grass  and  weeds ;  and 
the  unpruned  fruit-trees  spread  their  branches  about  in  dis- 
order, or  hung  half  off  the  walls  in  every  direction  over  the 
walks. 

It  was  only  when  they  came  to  the  flower-beds  in  front  of 
the  house  that  the  appearance  improved,  and  showed  that 
some  careful  hand  had  still  tended  the  shrubs,  and  covered 
the  flowers  with  straw  to  protect  them  from  the  frost ;  while 
here  and  there  a  winter  sunflower  raised  its  perfumed  stem,  on 
which  sparkled  a  few  drops  of  hoar-frost  melting  in  the  last 
beams  of  sunshine.  Seated  by  the  door,  to  warm  himself  in 
these,  and  bathed,  so  to  speak,  in  their  golden  glory,  a  sick 
man  was  dozing  in  an  arm-chair,  with  his  head  leaning  on  one 
of  his  hands.  Some  birds,  which  had  come  to  peck  among  the 
flowers,  were  fluttering  at  his  feet,  and  pigeons  were  softly 
cooing  over  his  head  in  a  ray  of  the  setting  sun.  Jacques 
stopped ;  he  had  recognised  his  "  great  cousin,"  as  he  had 
always  called  the  old  member  of  the  Ee volution ary  Tribunal. 

In  spite  of  all  the  wasting  of  disease,  he  still  had  the  same 
look  of  bold  defiant  energy.  His  hair  was  of  a  reddish  brown, 
and  cut  very  close  ;  beneath  his  shaggy  eyebrows  were  deeply 
sunk  two  dark  and  piercing  eyes ;  his  nose  was  prominent, 
and  hooked  like  an  eagle's  beak  ;  his  lips  thin  but  stubborn ; 
and  his  head  was  set  upon  one  of  those  very  short  necks  which 
usually  mark  a  violent  disposition. 

"Is  he  asleep?"  asked  sister  Clara,  who  heard  the  dying 
man  give  no  greeting  to  Jacques. 

The  latter  replied  in  a  low  voice  that  he  was. 


THE  BARGEMAN  OF  THE  LOIEE.  47 

"  Speak  louder,"  said  the  nun,  with  some  harshness  in  her 
tone  ;  "  his  hours  are  numbered,  and  he  must  be  awakened." 

Doubtless  the  sick  man  heard  these  words,  which  were  ut- 
tered without  regard  to  him,  for  he  opened  his  eyes,  and  in- 
stantly recognised  Master  Jacques. 

"  Oh,  it  is  you ! "  said  he,  making  an  effort  to  raise  his  head ; 
"  you  are  very  late — but  never  mind,  there  is  still  time." 

Sister  Clara,  who  had  groped  her  way  to  him,  shook  up  the 
pillow  which  supported  him.  He  looked  behind  the  "  drowner." 

"  Are  you  alone,  then?"  resumed  he.  "  I  wrote  to  you  to 
bring  your  son  ;  where  is  he  ?" 

"  He  is  away,"  replied  Jacques,  wishing  to  avoid  an  ac- 
count of  what  had  passed  at  La  Meilleraie  in  the  morning. 

The  sick  man  fixed  his  sharp  eye  upon  him. 

"Was  it  not  that  he  refused  to  come?"  asked  lie;  "tell 
me  no  lies." 

"  I  have  told  the  tmth,"  replied  the  old  bargeman,  who 
bore  his  look  steadily. 

"I  wish  that  I  could  have  seen  him,"  said  the  "great 
cousin,"  hesitating,  and  with  vexation. 

"  What  does  the  absence  of  the  son  signify,  as  the  father  is 
here  ?"  observed  the  nun  shortly.  "  Cannot  he  execute  your 
orders  now  as  ho  executed  them  formerly?" 

Jacques  started,  and  looked  down ;  the  dying  man  looked 
up  with  an  indomitable  expression. 

"Yon  are  right,  sister  Clara,"  said  he  bitterly  ;  "  he  obeyed 
faithfully  that  day,  when,  to  save  you,  he  risked  his  own  life  ; 
and"— 

He  paused. 

"  And  yours,"  concluded  the  blind  old  woman  ;  "  that  is  a 
remembrance  we  may  venture  to  recal.  There  was  some  heart 
in  saving  a  poor  nun,  only  because  she  had  been  your  mother's 
friend  in  the  convent ;  and  I  have  not  forgotten  it." 


48  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VEND]£e. 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  resumed  the  sick  man  rather  impa- 
tiently ;  "  when  everybody  turned  against  me — when  every- 
body deserted  me,  you  came  and  offered  me  your  services — I 
will  not  say  your  consolations." 

*'  God  alone  gives  consolation,"  interrupted  sister  Clara 
coldly. 

"Therefore  you  only  bestowed  your  time  upon  me,"  continued 
the  other.  "  For  the  last  twenty  years  I  have  had  some  one 
who  has  superintended,  managed,  worked  for  me,  yet  I  have 
not  been  the  less  alone.  But  no  matter,  others  refused  me 
what  you  gave,  and  I  am  not  ashamed  of  acknowledging 
what  I  owe  you." 

"  You  owe  me  nothing,"  replied  the  nun,  in  a  voice  in  the 
calm  of  which  there  was  something  as  cold  and  cutting  as 
steel.  "  What  I  have  done,  I  have  done  from  duty,  not  from 
choice.  I  would  discharge  every  claim  on  me,  for  man's 
honour  and  God's  glory." 

"  So,"  said  the  sick  man,  leaning  his  two  hands  with  force 
upon  the  arms  of  his  easy-chair,  and  tiying  to  raise  himself 
up,  "  you  did  nothing  for  my  sake  ?  You  have  only  looked 
upon  me  as  the  instrument  by  which  your  faults  were  being 
punished,  and  so  expiated  ?  You  have  lived  with  me  in  my 
solitude  for  twenty  years  without  a  single  feeling  of  sym- 
pathy?" 

"  There  was  a  gulf  between  us,"  said  the  blind  woman 
quietly ;  "  you  might  have  passed  it  by  the  Saviour's  cross, 
but  you  would  not.     Christ  will  be  your  judge ! " 

"  And  this  is  why  you  refused  to  accept  what  I  have  to 
leave  ?"  continued  the  dying  man,  raising  his  voice ;  *'  as  you 
have  done  nothing  for  my  sake,  you  will  have  none  of  my 
gratitude.  Your  God  alone  can  recompense  you  !  Well ;  go, 
then,  and  pray  to  Him,  for  I  have  no  more  need  of  you — go, 
you  saint,  whose  kindness  is  a  curse  !     Yes,  ray  own  feelings 


THE  BARGEMAN  OF  THE  LOIRE.  49 

tell  me,  that  outside  these  walls,  which  have  imprisoned  me  for 
so  long,  there  are  hearts  less  closely  barred  than  yours.  Yes, 
yes,  time  must  have  taught  those  who  breathe  the  free  air 
outside,  how  a  man  is  ruled  by  circumstances,  and  carried 
away  by  opinions.  Oh,  I  am  sure  that  if  that  world  which 
proscribed  and  cast  me  out  could  speak  again  now,  its  voice 
woiild  be  more  merciful  I" 

*'  Hark  1"  interrupted  the  nun. 

At  that  moment  a  hooting  was  raised  outside  the  wall. 
The  dying  man's  name  was  heard  mixed  with  insults  and 
curses.  Almost  at  the  same  time  a  shower  of  stones  was  sent 
over  the  enclosure,  and  fell  among  the  flower-beds,  breaking 
down  the  flowers,  and  frightening  away  the  birds.  The  sick 
man  uttered  a  feeble  cry ;  and  the  paleness  of  death  gave  place 
to  a  paleness  yet  more  ghastly,  as  he  heard  the  shouts  of 
laughter  from  the  children,  who  ran  off  after  their  daily  attack 
upon  the  accursed  house.  For  many  years  past  this  insult 
had  been  repeated  every  evening  as  the  school  broke  up ;  and 
the  terrible  associate  of  Carrier  could  not  get  accustomed  to  it. 
He  who  had  faced  every  curse  unmoved,  bent  beneath  that  of 
children. 

He  raised  his  hand  with  an  effort,  to  wipe  away  the  cold 
sweat  which  bathed  his  brow. 

"The  world  has  answered!"  said  sister  Clara,  after  a 
pause. 

"  Not  the  world,"  stammered  the  dying  man,  "  but  those 
who  hate  me !     Leave  me — leave  me  I " 

The  nun  turned  her  head,  fixed  her  marble  eyes  upon  the 
agitated  face  of  the  dying  man,  as  if  she  could  see  him  through 
her  darkness,  and  raising  her  hand  with  awful  solemnity — 

"  There  is  still  an  hour  left  you,"  said  she  ;   "  repent ! " 

Then  turning  slowly  round,  she  groped  her  way  back  to 
the  house. 


50  BRITTANY  AND  LA  V1:ND15i:. 

Jacques  followed  her  fearfully  with  his  eyes,  as  if  he  saw 
before  him  the  spectre  of  Divine  Justice.  When  she  had  dis- 
appeared, there  was  a  long  silence.  The  dying  man  endea- 
voured to  collect  himself  for  an  instant,  and  uttered  half 
delirious  words  cut  short  by  inarticulate  sneera. 

"  Repent !"  stammered  he ;  "  ah  !  ah  ! — they  little  know — 
Fools !  to  believe  that  revolutions  grow  up  of  themselves — 
watered  by  Heaven's  rain  ! — Ah !  ah  I  ah ! — let  them  wait 
— let  them  wait ! " 

Here  his  voice'  became  more  broken,  and  his  words  more 
confused  ;  presently  his  lips  alone  moved,  as  if  he  was  about 
to  draw  his  last  breath.  Jacques  in  alarm  came  nearer,  took 
his  hands,  and  called  him  by  his  name.  His  trembling  eye- 
lids opened  again,  a  tinge  of  life  coloured  his  features,  and  he 
drew  the  old  bargemaster  towards  him. 

"  Listen,"  murmured  he  ;  "  your  son  is  a  good  bargeman, 
is  he  not  ?  Men  esteem  him  ;  well,  all  I  have  I  give  him. 
Everything;  do  you  understand  me?" 

And  as  the  astonished  Jacques  was  trying  to  stammer  out 
his  thanks,  he  interrupted  him,  by  continuing  in  a  weaker 
voice — 

"  Quick  !"  and  then,  pointing  to  the  cushion  of  the  easy- 
chair,  "  look  there  I     What  do  you  find  ?" 

"  A  pocket-book !  "  said  the  bargeman,  who  bad  thrust  his 
hand  into  the  place  indicated. 

"  That  is  right ;  all  I  have  is  in  it.  Bills  payable  to 
bearer,  and  bank  notes.  You  understand  me  ?  they  are  for 
your  son  ;  the  honest  man  whom  honest  people  left  in  poverty 
— the  villain  they  curse — ^will  make  him  rich.  In  spite  of 
them,  I  shall  end  by  a  good  action." 

As  he  spoke,  a  contemptuous  smile  was  perceptible  on  his 
shrivelled  lips ;  he  seemed  to  try  to  say  something  more,  but 
the  death-rattle  interrupted  him.     Jacques  was  frightened, 


THE  BARGEMAN  OF  THE  LOIRE.  51 

and  called  sister  Clara,  wbo  came  with  the  same  unmoved 
countenance,  and  slowly  knelt  down  by  the  arm-chair,  whilst 
the  "drowner"  supported  the  falling  head  of  the  dying  man. 
All  three  remained  thus  for  a  long  time  without  speaking. 
The  sun  had  almost  set,  the  birds  were  _  silent,  all  was  cold 
and  gloomy.  Nothing  was  heard  but  a  hissing  sound  of 
breathing,  ever  growing  fainter.  At  last,  just  as  the  last 
gleams  of  day  were  fading  from  the  roof  of  the  lonely  house, 
the  dying  man  stretched  out  his  arms,  as  if  seeking  for  some 
stay,  opened  his  eyes,  and  then  closed  them  with  a  deep  sigh. 
Jacques,  who  was  leaning  towards  him,  listened  a  moment, 
then  put  his  hand  upon  his  lips.  The  blind  woman  raised 
her  head. 

"  Is  he  in  the  hands  of  God  ?"  asked  she. 

And  Jacques  answered,  "  Yes." 

She  got  up  quickly,  and  exclaimed — 

"  Then  my  trial  is  finished  I  0  Lord,  Thou  hast  taken 
me  out  of  the  den  of  lions,  like  Daniel;  blessed  be  Thy 
name  I" 

She  crossed  herself  twice,  and  slowly  withdrew.  The 
"  drowner"  looked  round  him  for  an  instant  in  fear ;  then  hid 
the  pocket-book  in  his  breast,  and  decamped ;  whilst  the 
corpse,  with  its  head  hanging  over  the  back  of  the  arm-chair, 
and  looking  as  if  its  ghastly  features  were  still  braving 
Heaven,  was  left  deserted  in  the  damp  fog  which  was  falling 
with  the  night. 

Troubled  by  this  death,  by  the  recollections  it  had  brought 
to  mind,  and  by  the  unexpected  fortune  which  had  just  made 
his  son  a  rich  man.  Master  Jacques  at  first  went  straight  before 
him,  without  any  purpose  or  object.  He  was  under  the  in- 
fluence of  a  sort  of  whirl  of  mind,  which  made  everything  pass 
before  his  eyes  confusedly,  and  as  if  in  a  dream.  In  this  stato 
he  walked  through  the  outskirts  of  the  town,  reached  the 


52  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VEND]6e. 

quays,  and  passed  over  the  nearest  bridges;*  but  at  last 
fatigue  forced  him  to  stop,  and  brought  him  back  to  the  reali- 
ties of  life. 

He  looked  about  through  the  now  dark  night,  and  perceived, 
at  the  top  of  one  of  the  sloping  causeways  which  go  down  to 
the  Loire,  a  poor-looking  inn,  with  leaning  walls  and  sinking 
roof,  which  seemed  to  threaten  to  fall  in.  On  the  blackened 
sign,  which  was  swinging  by  the  door  between  two  ivy 
wreaths,  was  the  indistinct  representation  of  an  anchor  made 
in  tin,  but  black  with  age,  and  round  which  the  sharpest  eye 
had  vainly  tried  to  read  the  now  effaced  motto.  However, 
Jacques  did  not  fail  to  recognise  immediately  the  "  Silver 
Anchor"  public-house,  formerly  frequented  by  all  the  young 
bargemen  of  the  river.  Its  present  deserted  state  was  a  new 
proof  of  the  instability  of  human  prosperity  ;  but  it  was  also  a 
reason  for  the  old  "  drowner"  preferring  it.  Therefore  he  did 
not  hesitate  to  push  open  the  breast-high  door  which  barred 
the  entrance. 

An  old  woman  was  knitting  near  the  fire  by  the  light  of  a 
resin  candle  ;  she  got  up,  evidently  surprised  at  the  arrival  of 
a  guest,  and  at  his  asking  for  a  supper  and  a  night's  lodging. 
She  was  about  to  call  her  granddaughter  up  to  prepare  every- 
thing for  him,  but,  after  asking  only  for  bread  and  brandy, 
Jacques  made  her  show  him  into  a  lower  room,  the  window  of 
which  opened  upon  the  banks  of  the  Loire,  hastily  wished  her 
good-night,  and  shut  himself  in. 

Whilst  Andre's  father  was,  as  usual,  seeking  to  forget  the 
past  in  drunkenness  and  sleep,  there  was  one  waking  not  far 
off  whose  hopes  by  that  very  past  had  all  been  destroyed. 
Just  opposite  to  the  "  Silver  Anchor,"  at  a  cable's  length 
from  the  shore,  a  sort  of  square  tower  stood  upon  the  river, 

*  The  rivers  Erdre  and  SSvre  join  the  Loire  at  Nantes ;  and  there  are  8aid  to  be  no  less 
than  FJxteen  bridges  over  the  network  of  streams  thus  formed. — Tr. 


THE  BARGEMAN  OF  THE  LOIKE.  53 

the  dark  shadow  of  which  rose  against  the  sky ;  it  was  the 
floating  mill  belonging  to  Francis's  mother.  Entine  had 
arrived  there  a  few  hours  before  with  Meru,  who  had  soon 
left  her,  while  he  went  with  his  nephew  to  make  their  barge 
safe  against  the  ice,  which  was  beginning  to  appear  in  the 
river.  After  the  customary  exchange  of  questions  and  an- 
swers which  a  first  meeting  brings,  the  mill-wife  showed  her 
to  the  little  room  which  was  intended  for  her,  on  the  top  story 
of  the  mill,  and  then  left  her,  promising  her  that,  rocked  by 
"  Goody  Eiver,"  she  would  sleep  like  a  child  of  three  years 
old  until  next  morning. 

Notwithstanding  this  prediction,  the  damsel  kept  awake  a 
long  time.  She  was  thinking  of  the  events  of  the  evening  be- 
fore, of  the  way  in  which  her  uncle  had  parted  with  Andre, 
and  of  the  impossibility  of  ever  making  him  accept  the  son  of 
Jacques  the  "drowner"  as  nephew,  and  she  worried  herself 
with  this  sorrowful  thought.  Her  saucy  mirth  was  flown ; 
she  seated  herself  on  her  bed,  and  her  cheek  rested  on  the 
pillow,  which  was  wetted  by  her  ever-returning  tears,  like  the 
great  drops  of  a  summer's  shower.  Many  hours  passed  thus. 
At  last  her  tears  stopped,  her  swelled  eyelids  closed,  and,  still 
sobbing,  like  a  child  overtaken  by  sleep  in  one  of  its  fleeting 
fits  of  grief,  she  slumbered,  with  her  two  arms  folded  under 
her  head. 

A  low  dull  sound,  but  long  and  deep,  awoke  her.  Little  by 
little  it  seemed  to  draw  nearer,  and  to  grow  louder.  It  was  a 
mighty  rolling  sound,  which  came  continually  on.  Very  soon 
lights  began  to  shine,  the  great  bell  of  the  cathedral  began  to 
toll,  and  one  loud  voice  proceeding  from  a  thousand  throats, 
rose  on  the  air,  and  shouted,  "  The  ice  I — the  ice  !" 

This  terrible  cry  had  sped  along  from  the  upper  Loire,  car- 
ried by  messengere,  who  passed  through  towns,  villages,  and 
hamlets,  bending  over  their  panting  horses,  and  waving  a 


64  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VEND/:K. 

flaming  torcli.  At  La  Meilleraie,  man,  torch,  and  horse, 
dropped  down  exhausted  ;  Andre  took  up  the  torch,  mounted 
a  fresh  horse,  and  had  come  to  give  Nantes  warning  of  the 
approach  of  the  scourge. 

The  news  spread  like  wildfire.  The  crews  of  the  vessels 
at  anchor  near  the  "Fosse"  started  from  their  sleep;  the 
bargemen  ran  to  the  river ;  in  an  instant,  both  banks  were 
lined  with  a  moving  multitude,  and  the  bridges  wreathed  with 
rows  of  heads ;  torches  flashing,  and  calls  and  orders  passing 
in  different  directions.  Everything  that  could  break  the  first 
shock  of  the  masses  of  ice  was  thrown  into  the  Loire.  And 
now  the  water,  driven  against  the  banks  with  unusual  vio- 
lence, gave  signal  of  their  approach.  At  last  the  vanguard 
was  in  sight ;  it  barred  the  river  right  across,  and  came  on 
like  an  army  of  white  spectres  shaking  their  snowy  mantles 
in  the  night  wind. 

TI)  jse  only  who  live  on  the  banks  of  a  great  river  know 
the  frightful  power  of  these  avalanches  of  ice,  which,  coming 
first  from  its  sources,  gathering  mass  on  their  way,  and  at  last 
reaching  its  navigable  waters,  with  a  steady  and  merciless 
force,  carry  everything  away  before  them  in  one  fell  swoop. 
They  only  know  the  shudder  which  runs  through  every  heart 
at  the  tidings  of  the  scourge ;  the  agony  of  interest,  which 
causes  every  foot  to  hasten  to  the  river-banks ;  the  horrors  of 
the  thousand  struggles  carried  on  between  man  and  these 
mountains  of  ice,  which  lift  themselves  high  above  the  waters, 
and  then  break  and  crumble,  and  bury  everything  beneath 
their  ruins. 

Entine,  when  wakened  by  the  rumbling  and  the  shouts 
which  proclaimed  the  coming  ice,  hurried  to  her  aunt.  Both 
of  them  were  at  first  alarmed  to  see  a  mass  of  it  collecting 
above  the  mill;  but  they  soon  perceived  that,  as  it  rested 
firmly  against  the  bank  and  the  nearest  buttress  of  the  bridge, 


THE  BARGEMAN  OF  THE  LOIRE.  55 

it  protected  them  like  a  rampart,  and  served  to  direct  the 
course  of  other  masses  towards  the  more  distant  arches.  Merii 
and  Francis,  whose  barge  was  likewise  within  the  range  of 
this  shelter,  called  to  them  from  where  they  were  to  keep 
their  courage  up.  The  avalanche  seemed,  in  fact,  to  he 
making  for  the  other  branches  of  the  river ;  and  as  the  boats 
there  were  in  greater  numbers,  and  the  efforts  to  save  them 
more  noisy,  the  arm  of  the  river  where  the  mill  lay  moored 
was,  by  comparison,  thrown  into  shade  and  stillness. 

The  two  women,  as  they  recovered  heart  a  little,  cast  their 
eyes  over  the  strange  scene  which  was  unfolding  before  them. 

In  front,  and  as  far  as  they  could  distinguish,  they  saw 
nothing  but  a  host  of  pale  and  gleaming  forms,  which  followed 
one  after  another  with  ever  greater  speed,  passed  by  with  a 
rumbling  and  clashing  sound,  and  then  disappeared  with  a 
roaring  noise  beneath  the  half-blocked  arches  of  the  bridge. 
On  their  right,  the  inhabitants  of  the  houses  which  lined  the 
banks  were  being  waked  up  one  after  another,  and  a  light 
began  to  shine  at  every  window,  and  voices  to  sound  at  every 
door ;  while  on  the  left,  stretched  the  dark,  deserted,  and  silent 
meadows.  In  the  distance,  they  could  perceive  the  solitary 
and  ruinous  "  Silver  Anchor,"  where  no  light  shone,  and 
which  seemed  a  spot  more  black  than  night  itself.  The  mill- 
wife's  eye  was  just  resting  upon  it,  when  she  saw  a  shadow 
slowly  emerge  from  it,  go  down  the  slope  which  led  to  the 
river,  and  proceed  towards  the  rampart  of  drifted  ice  by  which 
the  mill  and  Meru's  barge  were  shut  in.  She  soon  distin- 
guished a  tall,  thin  man,  who  carried  a  handspike  over  his 
shoulder.  When  he  came  to  the  barrier  formed  by  the  ice, 
he  stepped  upon  it  as  firmly  as  if  he  were  on  the  deck  of  a 
vessel,  and  was  not  long  before  he  reached  the  middle.  The 
frightened  mill-wife  showed  him  to  her  niece. 

"Look,  look,  Entine!"  cried  she.     "Where  does  that  un- 


56  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

lucky  man  come  from,  and  what  is  he  looking  for  there  ?  Has 
he  lost  his  senses,  or  is  he  tired  of  life?" 

"  He  keeps  walking  straight  on,  without  looking  at  any- 
thing !"  observed  the  maiden. 

*'  Now  he  is  on  the  edge  of  the  ice  !  he  is  looking  round." 

Entine  started.  By  the  starlight,  which  silvered  the  bank 
of  ice,  she  had  recognised  the  fixed  eyes  and  drawn  features 
of  Master  Jacques.  Meru,  who  had  just  observed  him  from 
his  boat,  knew  him  again  at  the  same  moment. 

"  It  is  the  '  drowner' !  "  cried  he.  "  Ah,  God  is  just !  He 
has  sent  him  to  his  punishment." 

The  sleep-walker,  in  fact,  was  proceeding  along  the  bank 
of  ice,  at  the  end  of  which  he  would  have  come  upon  the  deep 
water;  but  he  stopped  before  he  got  to  it,  and  raising  his 
handspike,  he  began  striking  into  the  water,  with  incoherent 
exclamations,  as  he  had  done  the  evening  before.  His  blows 
very  soon  fell  upon  the  edge  of  the  ice-bank,  which  might  be 
heard  to  crack  and  break,  till  at  last  the  violence  of  the  strokes 
so  shook  it,  that  it  split  through  its  whole  length.  Meru 
tried  in  vain  to  stop  him  by  threats ;  the  somnambulist  was 
wholly  under  the  influence  of  his  customary  illusion,  heard 
nothing,  and  went  on  with  his  mad  work.  Francis  uttered 
exclamations  of  the  greatest  alarm. 

"  Curses  on  the  rascal ! "  said  the  bargemaster  in  a  fury ; 
"if  the  ice  gets  loose,  all  is  done  for.  Push  off,  Francis, 
push  off  to  the  'drowner.'  I'll  soon  make  him  quiet,  either 
alive  or  dead ! " 

The  barge  glided  over  the  water  that  was  left  free,  and  as 
it  neared  Jacques,  Meru  lifted  his  pole  to  strike  him ;  but  he 
was  too  late.  One  last  blow  had  caused  the  riven  ice-bank 
to  give  way  in  twenty  places.  The  masses  which  it  had 
hitherto  stopped  in  their  course  rushed  on  all  at  once — rose 
one  upon  the  other ;  and  this  mountain  of  ice  giving  way  from 


TlIK  BARGEMAN  OF  THE  LOIRE.  57 

top  to  bottom,  buried  the  barge  and  the  sleep-walker  together 
under  its  ruins. 

The  shrieks  which  came  from  the  floating  mill  were  so 
piercing,  that  the  crowd  heard  them  far  off,  and  ran  towards 
the  bridge ;  but  the  space,  which  was  open  a  moment  before, 
was  already  filled  by  an  avalanche  of  ice,  which  bore  down 
upon  the  mill  with  a  hoarse  roar. 

With  an  instinctive  impulse  of  self-preservation,  the  two 
women  rushed  within.  Entine,  out  of  her  senses  with  fear, 
went  up  to  the  little  room  where  she  had  passed  the  night, 
and  fell  down,  incapable  of  any  effort.  Meanwhile,  the  frag- 
ments of  the  original  bank  of  ice,  increased  in  bulk  and  num- 
ber by  the  new  masses  which  the  current  was  bringing  down, 
had  drifted  upon  the  mill,  and  were  dashing  violently  against 
the  iron  cables  which  kept  it  moored  to  the  bottom  of  the 
river.  At  every  onset  was  heard  the  grating  of  some  broken 
chain,  and  pieces  of  the  wreck  were  seen  as  the  masses  of  ice 
carried  them  away.  At  last  a  terrific  crash  was  heard  :  the 
building  was  borne  up  for  a  moment,  then  swayed,  gave  way, 
and  was  drifted  down  the  stream. 

A  cry  of  terror  was  heard  from  the  multitude  which  crowded 
the  bridge.  The  mill  came  on  by  starts,  its  dark  mass  rising 
over  the  ice  and  water.  One  moment  a  block  of  ice  struck 
the  great  wheels,  and  made  them  turn  round  rapidly;  and 
then  another  stopped  them  as  suddenly.  In  this  way  the 
black  and  tottering  building  reached  one  of  the  arches  of  the 
bridge,  bent  forward  as  if  about  to  sink  below  it,  and  then 
stopped  for  a  moment. 

This  pause,  which  could  be  followed  by  no  other,  seemed 
to  arouse  Entine ;  she  saw  the  whole  danger,  and  the  height 
of  terror  gave  her  back  the  strength  which  its  first  coming 
had  deprived  her  of.  She  rushed  to  the  window,  with  her 
arms  stretched  out,  and  calling  for  help. 


58  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDEE. 

At  siglit  of  her,  the  spectators  pressed  to  the  parapet  of  the 
bridge ;  every  head  bent  forward,  every  arm  was  held  out  to 
her.  Vain  attempts ! — the  window  was  too  far  off.  A  buzz 
of  pity  and  horror  ran  through  the  crowd.  The  great  blocks 
of  drift-ice  still  came  closing  in  upon  the  mill,  and  its  dark 
mass  was  sinking  more  and  more.  The  poor  girl  pressed 
herself  against  the  window,  her  whole  thoughts  absorbed  in 
the  one  wish  for  life.  She  clasped  her  hands,  and  cried  for 
help  with  sobs ;  but  the  mill  still  kept  sinking.  Its  roof  was 
already  on  a  level  with  the  archway,  when  a  man  appeared 
standing  on  the  parapet  above. 

It  was  Andre,  who  was  no  sooner  at  Nantes,  where  he  had 
come  to  give  notice  of  the  ice,  than  he  had  thought  of  the 
danger  the  damsel  might  run  in  her  aunt's  mill,  and  who 
had  now  come  up  at  the  very  moment  it  was  sinking.  He 
saw  everything  at  the  first  glance.  With  two  springs,  he  was 
on  the  arch  before  which  the  mill  was  floating ;  he  let  himself 
slide  along  the  edge  of  the  buttress,  reached  one  of  the  great 
iron  rings  cramped  into  the  stone,  and  holding  on  to  it  by  one 
of  his  arms,  contrived  just  to  reach  the  window.  As  he 
stretched  out  his  hand,  the  dark  building  swayed  upon  the 
water ;  and  he  took  advantage  of  this  motion  to  seize  upon 
the  maiden  and  draw  her  out.  The  two.  remained  for  a 
moment  hanging  over  the  abyss ;  but  by  a  desperate  effort 
Andre  got  back  to  the  ledge  of  the  buttress  with  his  burden. 
He  had  just  set  her  down  on  it,  when  a  frightful  roar  sounded 
at  his  feet ;  an  icy  shower  dashed  over  his  face,  and  the  mill 
at  the  same  moment  sank  beneath  the  waters. 

The  bargemen  ran  with  ropes  to  help  him  to  get  up  the 
maiden,  who  was  brought  upon  the  bridge  in  a  swoon. 

Every  endeavour  to  save  her  aunt  was  fruitless ;  she  was 
carried  down  in  the  ruins  of  the  mill,  and  remained  buried  in 
the  huge  mass  of  drifting  ice,  like  Francis  and  Master  Meru. 


TUE  BARGEMAN  OF  THE  LOIRE.  59 

A  single  day  had  thus  deprived  Entine  of  all  her  Nantes 
relations.  As  soon  as  she  had  recovered  from  the  dreadful 
shock,  and  in  deep  mourning  had  attended  the  service  for  the 
dead  in  their  parish  church,  she  set  out  again  for  St.  Vincent's 
hermitage,  the  only  home  now  left  her. 

It  was  there  that  Andre  saw  her  next.  Meru's  prejudices 
were  not  shared  in  by  the  farmer  at  the  Hermitage;  and 
knowing  that  his  niece  owed  her  life  to  the  young  barge- 
master,  he  received  him  cordially.  Besides,  a  great  change 
had  taken  place  in  Andre's  position.  The  pocket-book  be- 
queathed him  by  the  inhabitant  of  the  lonely  house  had  been 
found  at  the  "  Silver  Anchor  "  inn,  with  Master  Jacques'  coat 
and  hat.  The  young  man,  who  did  not  know  from  whence 
it  came,  believed  he  only  inherited  his  father's  secret  savings ; 
and  this  unlooked-for  wealth  was  sufficient  to  silence  eveiy 
objection.  Three  months  after  the  events  we  have  just  re- 
lated, he  married  Entine  at  Saint- Vincent.  He  had  not  for- 
gotten his  expulsion  from  '  the  river-service ; '  but  he  made 
no  attempts  to  enter  it  again,  and  gave  up  the  bargeman's 
trade. 

The  traveller  who  goes  down  from  Angers  to  Nantes,  may 
still  see,  between  Chantoce  and-  Ingrande,  a  workyard  filled 
with  oak-staves,  deal  boards,  and  wooden  tiles.  At  the 
end,  and  in  the  middle  of  a  garden,  stands  a  cottage,  its 
white  front  ornamented  with  vines  and  china-roses,  and  look- 
ing upon  the  Loire.  This  is  Andre's  chosen  home  :  here  he 
lives  happily  with  Entine,  on  the  banks  of  the  river  he  loves, 
and  within  sound  of  the  waters  which  recall  to  him  so  many 
memories. 


THE  LAZARETTO-KEEPEE. 


CHAPTER    I. 

THE  YELLOW  FLAG  HOISTED. 


At  the  end  of  the  roadstead  of  Brest,  in  the  passage  whicli 
extends  hetween  Long  Island  and  the  point  of  Keleme,rise  two 
rocks  crowned  with  heavy  granite  buildings.  On  the  former, 
stands  the  Lazaretto  of  Treberon ;  the  other,  which  was  for- 
merly used  as  a  burying-ground,  and  thus  acquired  the  namei, 
of  the  Isle  of  Graves,  now  contains  the  principal  powder-maga- 
zine of  the  naval  arsenal. 

The  two  rocks  are  about  six  miles  from  Brest,  and  separated 
from  each  other  by  an  arm  of  the  sea.  There  is  no  sensible 
difference  in  the  appearance  of  these  little  islets.  Excepting 
the  space  occupied  by  the  buildings,  they  only  present  the 
eye  with  rugged  declivities,  diversified  here  and  there  with 
coarse  mosses  and  prickly  furze.  You  would  seek  there  in 
vain  for  any  other  shelter  than  the  fissures  of  the  rock,  any 
other  shade  than  that  of  the  walls,  or  any  other  walk  than 
the  short  terrace  contrived  in  front  of  the  buildings.  Barren 
and  naked,  the  two  islands  look  like  two  enormous  stone 
sentry-boxes,  placed  there  to  watch  over  the  sea  which  roars 
beneath. 


62  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

However,  if  the  foot  which  treads  them  is  kept  prisoner 
within  a  limited  circle,  the  eye  from  the  height  of  this  escarp- 
ment wanders  over  a  vast  horizon.  Here  is  the  Bay  of 
Lanvoc,  fringed  with  low  and  dark  vegetation  ;  there  Roscan- 
vel,  with  its  shady  groves,  through  which  peeps  the  graceful 
spire  of  its  steeple ;  further  off,  Spanish  Point,  bristling  with 
batteries ;  and  lastly,  on  the  furthest  verge  of  the  horizon, 
Brest  half  shows  through  a  veil  of  mist  her  arsenals,  her  forts, 
and  the  hundred  masts  of  her  vessels.  In  the  space  between 
opens  the  gullet,  the  sea-gate  of  this  marvellous  lake,  through 
which  come  in  and  out  incessantly  the  roving  barks  which  go 
to  show  the  flag  of  France  on  the  seas,  or  which  bring  it  back 
from  distant  lands. 

The  report  of  a  gun,  of  which  the  echo  was  still  booming 
along  the  shores,  had  just  announced  one  of  these  arrivals, 
and  a  frigate  in  full  sail  doubled  the  point  by  favour  of  a 
gentle  breeze.  From  the  height  of  the  esplanade  of  Treberon, 
a  man,  wearing  a  cape  of  pilot-cloth,  and  a  narrow-brimmed 
hat  which  showed  his  grizzled  hair,  was  looking  at  the  noble 
ship  as  she  glided  in  the  distance  between  the  azure  of  the 
sea  and  of  the  sky.  It  was  easy  to  perceive  that  the  Lazaretto 
keeper — for  it  was  he — was  giving  but  a  divided  attention  to 
this  sight,  with  which  his  long  residence  at  Treberon  had  made 
him  familiar.  His  eyes  rested  for  a  moment  with  a  sort  of 
indifference  on  the  frigate,  which  was  beginning  to  take  in 
her  top-sails,  and  then  speedily  turned  homewards,  and  re- 
mained fixed  on  the  end  of  a  path  which  led  from  the  espla- 
nade to  the  sea,  upon  a  group,  which  seemed  to  interest  him 
much  more  earnestly.  The  object  of  his  contemplation  was, 
in  truth,  one  which  would  have  struck  the  least  attentive  eye  ; 
and  a  pupil  of  Phidias  would  have  found  in  it  the  hint  for  one 
of  those  antique  bas-reliefs  of  which  the  marble  has  become 
more  precious  than  pure  gold. 


THE  LAZARETTO-KEEPER.  63 

Two  little  girls  and  a  goat  were  climbing  tlie  winding  path 
together.  The  eldest,  who  might  be  eleven  years  old,  held 
the  freakish  animal  by  one  of  those  ribbon  sea-weeds  which 
look  like  strips  of  Spanish  leather.  Her  black  hair  fell  back 
on  her  dark  neck  like  two  raven's  wings,  and  gave  her  face 
a  hardy  and  slightly  wild  expression,  which  tempered  the 
sweetness  ol  ier  deep,  soft  eye.  The  younger,  who  was 
mounted  on  the  goat,  as  if  it  were  her  usual  steed,  looked  like 
a  wild  rose  in  all  its  dewy  purity.  A  spray  of  heather,  mixed 
among  her  golden  hair  fell  almost  to  her  shoulder,  and  gave 
her  an  inexpressibly  picturesque  and  graceful  air.  The  two 
sisters  were  forcing  the  goat  to  slacken  her  pace,  but  she  sub- 
mitted impatiently  ;  and  from  time  to  time  they  were  obliged 
to  double  the  frail  bands  which  held  her  captive,  and  again 
and  again  to  seize  the  garland  of  sea-flowers  twined  round  her 
boms.  Then  there  were  long  cries  of  joy,  and  bursts  of 
laughter  without  end,  broken  by  the  shrill  bleatings  of  Bru- 
nette, who  stamped  on  the  ground  with  her  foot,  and  shook  her 
head  rebelliously^  In  vain  had  any  other  hands  but  those  of 
Jeannette  and  Francine  tried  to  make  her  even  thus  com- 
pliant ;  but  this  latter  had  been  her  foster-child,  and  the  goat 
had  plainly  not  forgotten  it. 

Matthew  Ropars  had  been  looking  for  some  time  at  this  sort 
of  playful  contest  between  the  frolicsome  Brunette  and  bis 
daughters,  when  he  felt  a  hand  pressed  upon  his  arm  ;  he 
turned,  and  met,  so  to  say,  against  his  shoulder,  their  mother's 
smiling  face. 

"  Look  at  the  children !"  said  he,  pointing  out  the  romping 
group  by  a  movement  of  his  head. 

"  Heavens !  Francine  will  fall,"  said  the  mother,  making  a 
step  towards  the  path. 

But  he  drew  her  back. 

"  Let  her  alone,"  replied  he ;  "  you  know  there  is  nothing 


64  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

to  fear  while  Jeannette  takes  care  of  her;  without  counting 
that  Brunette  loves  them  better  than  her  own  kids,  and  they 
return  her  love  in  full.  God  forgive  me,  if  they  don't  love  the 
beast  next  to  us ! " 

"  And  M.  Gabriel,"  put  in  their  mother — "  at  least  Jean- 
nette. The  child  does  not  let  a  day  pass  without  talking  of 
him,  although  he  was  in  the  lazaretto  for  hardly  more  than 
a  week,  and  that  three  years  ago." 

"  Truly,  the  lieutenant  is  a  man  difficult  to  forget,"  replied 
Eopars ;  "  above  all,  for  the  little  one  to  whom  he  gave  so 
many  kind  words  and  promises.  Isn't  he  to  bring  her  all  the 
wonders  of  India  ?  But  unless  some  misfortune  has  happened 
to  him,  my  notion  is  that  we  shall  not  wait  long  before  we 
see  him,  as  well  as  the  '  Thetis.'  " 

"  In  the  meantime,  I  must  tell  the  children  of  another  visit 
which  will  give  them  not  a  little  pleasure." 

"What  is  it?" 

"  One  from  our  cousin  and  little  Michael." 

"  Dorot  coming ! "  repeated  Matthew,  looking  towards  the 
battery  on  the  Isle  of  Graves  ;  "  how  do  you  know?" 

"  Have  not  we  our  signal  language  as  well  as  the  king's 
ships?"  replied  Genevieve,  smiling.  "See,  he  has  hoisted 
three  little  red  flags  in  his  window ;  that  is  to  show  he  is 
coming  here.  Besides,  I  saw  Michael  go  down  to  the  boat- 
man's house." 

"  Bravo ! "  cried  Eopars,  his  face  lighting  tip ;  "  your 
cousin  and  the  boy  shall  sup  with  us — always  provided  that 
your  larder  is  not  as  empty  as  our  hospital." 

Genevieve  exclaimed  against  this,  and  enumerated  with  not 
a  little  satisfaction  all  her  culinary  resources,  which  had  for- 
tunately been  increased  two  days  before  by  the  boatmaster, 
who  was  purveyor  both  to  the  powder-magazine  and  the 
lazaretto.      Matthew  promised  to  crown  the  feast  for  the 


THE  LAZARETTO-KEEPER.  65 

ordnance-keeper,  by  opening  a  bottle  of  old  Koussillon,  which 
had  been  long  buried  in  the  sand  in  his  cellar. 

At  this  moment  the  two  little  girls  reached  the  terrace. 

"  Quick!"  cried  the  mother  ;  "come,  somebody  is  coming 
here." 

"  M.  Gabriel  ?"  said  Jeannette,  springing  forward  with  a 
cry. 

"  0  no,  silly  one — coiisin  Dorot  and  little  Michael." 

The  child  betrayed  a  sign  of  disappointment,  but  Francine 
clapped  her  hands  with  exclamations  of  delight ;  the  goat,  left 
to  herself,  bounded  along  the  sharp  points  of  the  rock,  where 
she  began  browsing  upon  the  tufts  of  briny  grass  ;  and  the 
two  sisters  went  down  hand  in  hand  to  the  landing-creek, 
whilst  their  mother  returned  to  get  everything  ready. 

As  the  latter  had  said,  the  special  affection  of  Jeannette  for 
M.  Gabriel  had  already  lasted  several  yeare.  It  dated  from 
a  quarantine  performed  at  Treberon  by  the  lieutenant,  who, 
charmed  by  her  unsophisticated  grace,  had  shown  her  such 
kindness  that  the  child  had  responded  to  it  with  a  sort  of 
passion. 

M.  Gabriel  had  entered  the  navy  against  bis  inclination, 
and  had  nothing  of  his  profession  but  the  uniform.  In  the 
midst  of  that  life  of  changes,  toils,  and  adventures,  he  was 
always  dreaming  of  a  settled  home,  and  the  peaceful  joys 
of  family  life ;  he  was  one  of  those  lovers  of  solitude  born  for 
a  life  among  peasants,  women,  and  children.  When  confined 
to  the  lazaretto  of  Treberon,  he  had  brought  with  him  a  few 
favourite  books,  and  his  violin,  upon  which  he  played  for 
hours  together  for  the  sole  purpose  of  hearing  its  melodious 
strains.  When  he  went  out,  Jeannette  would  run  to  meet 
him,  and  guide  him  along  the  rocks  to  their  most  hidden 
windings,  where  each  day  he  discovered  some  unknown  plant, 
or  some  new  moss.    When  evening  came,  he  would  visit  the 


66  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDISe. 

old  quarter-master,  and  -witness  his  quiet  happiness.  Gene- 
vieve would  talk  to  him  of  her  children  ;  Jeannette  would  ask 
him  for  a  story  or  a  song ;  and  at  the  hour  of  rest  he  would 
return  to  his  cell  with  a  calm  mind  and  light  heart.  A  fort- 
night thus  passed  away  like  an  hour ;  so  that  when  the 
quarantine  was  over,  and  he  had  to  leave  Treberon,  his  free- 
dom only  gave  him  cause  for  regret.  He  returned  many 
times  to  pass  whole  days  upon  the  gloomy  isle  ;  and  at  last, 
when  he  was  obliged  to  embark  on  a  distant  exploring  expe- 
dition, he  promised  to  write  to  the  lonely  family.  Ropars  had 
since  received  some  letters  from  him,  and,  as  we  have  seen, 
was  expecting  him  soon  to  return. 

Just  now,  the  visit  announced  by  Genevieve  exclusively 
occupied  the  whole  thoughts  of  the  lazaretto-keeper.  He 
had  remained  by  himself  on  the  esplanade,  from  whence  he 
continued  to  look  towards  the  Isle  of  Gi'aves.  The  distance 
permitted  him  to  make  out  all  that  was  going  on  there — to 
recognise  the  persons,  and  to  distinguish  their  movements. 
So  he  could  see  Dorot  going  down  to  the  boat,  stepping  the 
mast,  and  preparing  the  sail ;  and  little  Michael  grasping  the 
rudder  with  difficulty. 

Before  marriage  had  united  the  two  families,  the  ordnance 
and  the  lazaretto  keepers  had  known  one  another  in  the 
naval  service,  in  which  both  had  served — one  as  a  quarter- 
master, and  the  other  as  a  sergeant  of  artillery.  When 
Matthew  Ropars  was  appointed  to  Treberon,  he  was  rejoiced 
to  find  his  old  comrade,  Dorot,  settled  these  many  years  on 
the  Isle  of  Graves,  with  his  wife,  his  son,  and  an  orphan 
cousin.  The  lazaretto,  being  almost  always  empty,  left  him 
so  much  leisure  that  he  was  able  to  pay  frequent  visits  to  the 
powder-magazine,  and  to  make  himself  known  and  appreciated 
there. 

Dorot's  cousin,  Genevieve,  took  a  particular  liking  to  his 


THE  LAZARKTTO-KEEPER.  67 

upright  and  calm  disposition-.  Up  to  the  age  of  sixteen,  she 
had  felt  all  the  pangs  of  want ;  her  cousin  had  then  taken  her 
from  charity  into  his  own  house,  where  his  wife  made  her  at 
every  moment  pay  dearly  for  her  home ;  and  thus  the  poor 
orphan  was  accustomed  to  expect  nothing  from  any  one,  and 
to  receive  as  a  favour  all  that  was  given  her.  She  therefore 
felt  Matthew's  frank  cordiality  more  than  another  would  have 
done,  and  accepted  it  with  a  half  filial  gratitude,  with  which 
was  insensibly  blended  that  touch  of  tenderness  which  women 
whose  hearts  are  free  bring  into  all  their  friendships.  The 
intimacy  between  her  and  Eopars  went  on  increasing  every 
day,  without  either  of  them  discovering  the  state  of  their  in- 
clinations. When  Matthew,  who  already  felt  the  weight  of 
years  upon  him,  saw  the  young  girl  in  the  full  bloom  of  her 
fresh  beauty,  he  never  dreamt  of  asking  her  to  share  his  life  ; 
and  Genevieve,  happy  to  see  him  every  day,  and  to  know  he 
lived  near,  never  thought  of  wishing  for  more.  It  was  only 
when  a  place  was  offered  to  the  latter  near  Brest,  and  a  sepa- 
ration was  in  prospect,  that  they  discovered  how  necessary 
each  was  to  the  other.  When  Eopars  saw  the  tears  of  Gene- 
vieve, a  consciousness  of  his  own  grief  made  him  bold.  He 
told  her  she  need  not  depart  if  the  Isle  of  Treberon  did  not 
displease  her  more  than  the  Isle  of  Graves,  and  if  his  company 
pleased  her  as  well  as  that  of  her  cousin.  The  poor  girl,  with 
blushes  and  tears  of  joy,  could  only  reply  by  sinking  into  his 
arms.  The  old  quarter-master  spoke  directly  to  Dorot.  They 
were  married  ;  and  he  took  Genevieve  away  with  him  into 
his  isle,  the  solitude  of  which  he  no  longer  feared. 

The  difference  of  their  ages  did  not  appear  to  affect  the 
happiness  of  the  keeper  and  the  orphan.  Both  had  that 
which  makes  marriage  happy — a  simple  mind  and  willing  heart. 
Children  bound  them  still  more  strongly  to  one  another,  by 
enlarging  the  circle  of  their  fireside.     The  younger  was  just 


68  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

born  when  Dorot  lost  his  wife,  and  was  left  with  only  his 
son  Michael,  a  boy  of  thirteen. 

Since  this  bereavement,  the  friendship  of  the  two  old  com- 
rades had  revived.  Their  intercourse  became  more  frequent. 
The  boat  in  use  for  the  two  establishments  was  kept  at  the 
little  port  of  the  Isle  of  Graves,  and  was  thus  left  at  the 
disposal  of  the  ordnance-keeper,  who  neglected  no  opportunity 
of  coming  to  pass  a  few  hours  with  his  neighbours  ;  but  not- 
withstanding the  nearness,  and  the  facility  of  the  passage,  he 
was  yet  not  able  to  pay  them  daily  visits.  Dorot's  constant 
superintendence  was  required ;  the  orders  of  the  service  were 
as  sudden  as  unforeseen ;  and  he  dared  not  run  the  risk  of 
being  absent  too  often. 

His  appearance  at  the  lazaretto,  then,  was  not  so  frequent 
as  to  have  ceased  to  be  an  extraordinary  pleasure.  Father, 
mother,  and  children,  equally  thought  it  an  occasion  for  keep- 
ing holiday  ;  and  it  was  never  without  great  delight  that  they 
perceived  the  signal  announcing  the  wished-for  visit,  and  the 
boat  loosened  from  the  little  harbour  and  steering  towards 
Treberon. 

This  time,  as  soon  as  Eopars  saw  it  coming,  he  went  down 
to  meet  it.  Hardly  had  it  touched  land  than  Michael  sprang 
ashore,  embraced  the  lazaretto-keeper,  and  then  the  two  little 
girls,  with  whom  he  ran  on  towards  the  house.  Then  Dorot 
landed  in  his  turn,  squeezed  Matthew  by  the  hand,  and  the 
two  walked  slowly  up,  talking  as  they  went. 

When  they  reached  the  top,  they  turned  round  by  force  of 
habit,  and  cast  a  look  on  the  sea.  The  ordnance-keeper 
observed  that  the  frigate  had  just  finished  taking  in  her  last 
sails. 

"  Heaven  forgive  me,  if  she  is  not  going  to  anchor,"  said 
he.  "  Did  you  ever  see  a  home-bound  ship  stop  so  far  from 
land,  Matthew  ?" 


THE  LAZARETTO-KEEPER.  69 

"  That's  as  it  may  be,"  replied  the  old  boatswain,  laugh- 
ing ;  "  you  keep  at  a  distance  when  you  distrust  a  fort,  or 
when  you  suspect  a  reef." 

"  But  that's  not  the  case  now,"  observed  Dorot ;  "  the 
frigate  need  not  fear  either  the  castle  cannon,  which  are  her 
good  friends,  nor  the  roadstead,  the  bottom  of  which  is  as  sound 
as  a  refitting  dock.  There  must  be  something  out  of  the 
common." 

"  Most  likely  the  ship  has  to  perform  quarantine,"  replied 
Eopars.     "  The  '  Thetis'  is  expected." 

"  Bless  me !  that's  she,"  cried  the  ordnance-keeper,  who 
was  half  shutting  his  eyes,  and  shading  his  brow  with  one  of 
his  hands,  to  see  better  in  the  distance  ;  "  it  is  the  '  Thetis,'  or 
I'm  a  heathen.  I  had  her  down  yonder  for  a  week  when  she 
was  taking  in  her  powder,  and  I  know  her  again  by  her  masts 
and  her  build." 

"  The  '  Thetis ' ! "  repeated  Matthew ;  "  now,  then,  we  shall 
see  M.  Gabriel ;  here's  a  pleasure  for  Jeannette  !  Quick  I  I 
must  let  her  know." 

He  was  hastening  on,  but  Dorot  drew  him  back. 

"  Don't  hurry,  Eopars,"  said  he ;  "  never  count  too  much 
upon  what  «,  ship  brings;  the  people  you  expect  are  al- 
ways those  who  are  missing  at  the  roll-call.  You  had  better 
wait,  and  let  the  lieutenant  give  his  own  news  of  himself." 

"  You  are  right,"  replied  the  quarter-master;  "  and  the  more 
so,  because  I  believe  the  frigate  comes  from  Havannah." 

*'  Who  knows  if  she  does  not  bring  us  tenants  for  the  la- 
zaretto?" 

"  So  be  it ;  they  will  be  welcome.  With  Genevieve  and 
the  children  one  is  never  dull ;  but  at  times  a  little  company 
is  not  unpleasant.  You,  in  the  Isle  of  Graves,  have  the  ord- 
nance station,  which  keeps  you  up  to  what  is  going  on,  besides 
inspections,  and  the  relays  of  workmen  at  the  powder  maga- 


70  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

zine,  whilst  here  there  is  never  anything  new.  Not  one 
visitor  in  a  year!  So  if  some  quarantiners  do  chance  to 
come  to  us,  at  any  rate  we  hear  of  what  is  passing  on  the 
mainland,  and  that  will  give  us  enough  to  talk  about  for 
months." 

The  ordnance-keeper  shook  his  head. 

"It's  all  well  and  good  when  they  don't  bring  sickness," 
replied  he ;  "  but  old  people  on  shore  talk  still  of  a  quarantine 
in  which  the  lazaretto  had  neither  earth  nor  rock  enough  to 
lay  the  dead  in,  and  when  they  were  obliged  to  throw  them 
into  the  water  with  a  cannon-shot  round  their  necks,  as  they 
do  in  ships  at  sea." 

"Christ  spare  us  such  a  trial!"  said  Ropars,  reverently 
touching  his  hat,  as  was  his  custom  eveiy  time  he  pronounced 
the  Saviour's  name.  "  But  you  speak  of  a  time  now  long 
past,  Dorot ;  Heaven  grant  we  may  never  see  it  again ! 
There  are  no  heathens  here,  and  I've  a  trust  that  the  favour 
of  God  will  rest  upon  us." 

Dorot  nodded,  in  token  of  agreeing  with  him.  In  fact, 
this  confidence,  springing  from  a  simple  faith,  had  hitherto 
been  justified  by  experience.  During  the  thirteen  years  past, 
the  keeper  had  taken  none  but  persons  in  health  ftito  quaran- 
tine, although  they  had  all  been  obliged  to  submit  to  the 
detention  and  seclusion  which  the  formal  regulations  pre- 
scribed as  a  security  and  test.  Even  these  were  rare  excep- 
tions. Treberon,  like  all  lazarettos,  was  oftenest  left  unoccu- 
pied, and  the  keeper  remained  there  on  his  watch  alone,  like 
a  perpetual  look-out,  posted  in  advance  of  the  mainland  to 
keep  contagion  off  it. 

As  they  talked,  Dorot  and  he  reached  the  house ;  Genevieve 
received  them  on  the  threshold,  with  the  three  children  around 
her,  holding  her  and  speaking  to  her  at  the  same  time.  After 
exchanging  the  usual  expressions  of  friendship,  she  went  in 


THE  LAZARETTO- KEEPER.  71 

with  the  two  keepers,  whilst  Michael  wandered  along  with 
Jeannette  and  Francine  towards  Brunette,  which  had  perched 
herself  on  the  top  of  a  rock,  from  whence  she  looked  at  them 
bleating.  The  boy,  who  was  accustomed  to  follow  his  father's 
sheep  over  the  crags  in  the  Isle  of  Graves,  tried  to  get  to  her ; 
but  the  mischievous  creature  sprang  along  the  escarpments 
from  point  to  point,  always  seeming  ready  to  be  caught,  and 
always  contriving  to  escape  the  instant  his  hand  touched  her. 
'  While  the  children  thus  pursued  her  with  a  thousand  loud 
calls,  and  a  thousand  shouts  of  laughter,  Kopars  and  Dorot 
entered  the  dining-room,  where  Genevieve  had  begun  to  lay 
the  cloth. 

It  was  a  room  of  moderate  size,  furnished  by  the  keeper 
himself  at  the  time  of  his  marriage,  and  ornamented  with  a 
few  sea-engravings,  amongst  which  was  conspicuous  a  portrait 
of  Jean  Bart,  the  nautical  Hercules  to  whom  the  traditions 
of  the  forecastle  have  attributed,  as  we  know,  every  kind  of 
superhuman  exploit  and  impossible  adventure. 

After  seeing  his  guest  seated,  Matthew  went  for  the  bottle 
of  Koussillon,  which  he  brought  up  all  white  with  sand,  and 
crowned  with  the  cap  of  green  wax  that  certified  its  noble 
birth.  Dorot,  in  a  friendly  way,  exclaimed  against  such 
magnificence,  and  informed  them  he  could  not  stay  long,  as 
the  officer  in  command  at  the  port  in  the  Isle  of  Graves  re- 
quired the  boat  to  return  before  sunset.  Genevieve  conse- 
quently made  haste  to  get  the  meal  ready,  and  to  call  the 
children  in  to  supper. 

The  conversation  between  people  whose  whole  existence  is 
limited  by  the  narrow  bounds  of  two  islets,  could  not  have 
much  variety.  Matthew  talked  of  his  dead-lines,  set  among 
the  creeks  of  Treberon ;  and  Dorot  of  his  wild  cherry-tree. 

The  latter  might  be  looked  upon  as  the  "  pitfal  of  pride  "  at 
which  the  worthy  and  unpretending  sergeant  always  stumbled. 


72  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

No  other  keeper  before  him  had  succeeded  in  preserTing- 
his  shrubs  from  the  eflfects  of  the  sea-breeze ;  it  was  the 
only  tree  that  had  ever  been  seen  in  the  two  islets.  LucuUus 
himself  could  hardly  have  been  more  proud  of  the  first  cherry- 
tree  he  brought  from  Persia  to  grace  his  triumph.  Dorot, 
though  humble  as  to  all  else,  drew  himself  up  with  dignity 
when  the  question  concerned  his  poor  stunted  crab-tree ;  he 
only  showed  it  occasionally  to  friends  and  superiors,  and 
even  they  had  to  ask  it  as  a  favour.  Things  are  like  men, 
and  for  the  most  part  obtain  the  importance  which  is  ascribed 
to  them,  instead  of  that  which  they  actually  possess.  Thus 
overrated  and  husbanded,  the  reputation  of  the  wild  cherry- 
tree  of  the  Isle  of  Graves  spread  from  Plougastel  to  Camaret ; 
it  was  spoken  of  everywhere  as  a  wonder.  Dorot's  pride  had 
increased  in  proportion,  and  had  just  been  carried  to  the  highest 
pitch  by  an  event  as  extraordinary  as  it  was  unforeseen.  He 
brought  the  news  to  Treberon,  but  would  not  make  it  known 
at  once ;  every  possible  conjecture,  as  in  Madame  de  Sevigne's 
famous  letter  on  the  marriage  of  Mademoiselle,  was  first  to  be 
tried.  At  last,  when  they  had  "  given  it  up,"  he  consented 
to  speak  out,  and  he  declared — that  the  cherry-tree  had 
blossomed ! 

There  was  a  general  cry  of  surprise  and  wonder.  Ropars 
and  Genevieve  being  always  confined  to  their  little  island, 
had  not  seen  a  tree  in  blossom  for  many  years ;  and  the  two 
little  girls  never  recollected  any.  They  questioned  Michael 
loudly,  and  both  at  once. 

"Were  the  flowers  gold-colour  like  broom,  or  blood-red 
like  sea-furze?  How  could  the  flowers  turn  into  cherries? 
Must  they  wait  long  for  them  ?  Would  the  tree  have  red 
garden- cherries,  or  black  mountain  ones?" 

Dorot  cut  the  questions  short,  by  saying  that  he  would 
come  the  next  morning  to  fetch  all  the  family  to  see  the  won- 


THE  LAZARETTO-KEEPER.  73 

derful  tree,  and  dine  at  the  Isle  of  Graves.  The  ecstasies  of 
the  sisters  may  be  guessed :  their  mother  could  not  quiet  their 
laughter,  and  their  clapping  of  hands.  They  cried  out,  "  To- 
morrow! to-morrow!" — like  the  watchmen  of  ^neas,  who 
cried  "Italy!"  when  they  descried  through  the  purple  mist 
that  final  object  of  so  many  efforts,  and  of  so  much  hope. 

When  the  sergeant  saw  their  impatience,  he  proposed  to 
take  them  with  Michael  that  same  evening.  There  would 
still  be  sufficient  daylight  on  their  arrival  for  them  to  see  the 
cherry-tree,  covered  with  its  summer  snow,  and  their  parents 
could  come  for  them  the  next  day.  The  children  supported 
him  by  their  entreaties.  Ropars  smiled,  without  answering, 
and  looked  as  if  inclined  to  consent ;  but  Genevieve  exclaimed 
against  it.  "What  would  become  of  her  without  Francine  and 
Jeannette  ?  Often,  even  now,  if  she  awoke  in  the  middle  of 
the  night,  she  was  uneasy  if  she  did  not  hear  their  gentle 
breathing;  she  would  get  up  shivering,  and  would  grope 
along  in  the  dark  to  their  bed,  that  she  might  touch  them 
and  hear  them  breathe.  Then  what  would  it  be  if  they  were 
no  longer  there?  Could  she  sleep  in  peace,  and  not  fancy 
some  danger  near  ?  She  should  dream  that  the  powder  maga- 
zine had  taken  fire,  or  that  the  Isle  of  Graves  bad  gone  down 
like  a  wrecked  vessel.  All  this  was  said  between  laughing 
and  crying.  The  two  little  girls,  who  at  first  had  longed  to 
go,  now  hung  round  their  mother's  neck,  moved  by  sympathy, 
and  crying  out  that  they  would  stay.  The  ordnance-keeper 
urged  it  no  longer ;  and  ho  and  Matthew  again  took  the  path 
which  led  to  the  beach,  followed  by  the  mother  and  children, 
who  were  once  more  silent. 

The  sun  was  sinking  below  the  horizon,  leaving  a  track  of 
purple  and  gold  on  the  channel  of  the  Gullet.  The  breeze 
was  beginning  to  move  over  the  bay,  ruffling  it  with  dancing 
ripples ;  the  perfumes  of  flowers  came  in  gusts  from  the  main- 


74  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDISE. 

land,  with  the  tinkling  of  the  evening  prayer-bell,  and  the 
lowing  of  the  cattle  as  they  came  home.  Everywhere  was 
felt  the  tendency  to  repose,  and  that  inexpressible  calm, 
which  from  outward  objects  reaches  the  senses,  and  enters 
into  the  depths  of  the  soul.  Heaven,  earth,  and  water  seemed 
with  one  consent  to  have  lowered  their  voices,  to  mingle  to- 
gether in  one  melodious  murmur.  The  two  keepers  and  their 
families,  without  analysing  the  soft  yet  invigorating  tran- 
quillity that  surrounded  them,  felt  its  influence.  They  went 
down  the  path  in  silence,  and  slackened  their  steps,  as  if  to 
prolong  a  pleasure  which  they  wished  to  taste  with  full 
relish.  When  they  reached  the  boat,  however,  they  were 
obliged  to  make  up  their  minds  to  part.  Jeannette  made  the 
sergeant  promise  to  come  and  fetch  them  early  the  next  day  : 
they  then  set  sail ;  and  the  boat  darting  over  the  pliant  waves 
took  its  course  towards  the  powder-magazine. 

Just  at  the  moment  they  reached  the  mid-channel  between 
the  two  isles,  a  ship's  barge,  which  they  had  been  so  occupied 
in  leave-taking  as  not  to  have  noticed  sooner,  appeared  to  the 
leeward  of  Treberon.  Her  bold  make,  her  dark  colour,  crossed 
by  a  single  white  stripe  at  the  water-line,  and  the  perfect 
trim  of  her  sails,  would  have  been  enough  to  tell  what  she 
was,  even  if  the  dress  of  the  double  row  of  sailors  which  lined 
her  sides  had  not  proclaimed  her  a  craft  of  war.  When  she 
crossed  the  boat  steered  by  the  sergeant,  she  kept  off  abruptly, 
and  by  the  last  glimmer  of  daylight  they  distinguished  the 
yellow  flag  of  the  health  office. 

At  this  sight,  Genevieve  and  the  children  uttered  a  cry. 
They  all  three  knew  that  these  were  guests  coming  to  the 
lazaretto ;  they  would  put  the  island  in  quarantine,  and  for- 
bid all  communication  with  those  outside  it.  The  next  day's 
visit  must  be  put  off  indefinitely,  and  the  cherry  blossoms 
would  be  over  before  they  were  again  free. 


THE  LAZARETTO-KEEPER.  75 

This  deathblow  to  their  new-bom  hopes  was  something  so 
sudden  and  so  unexpected,  that  Francine  and  Jeannette  could 
not  at  once  reconcile  themselves  to  it.  They  looked  at  one 
another  disconsolately,  and  began  to  sob  ;  whilst  their  mother, 
taking  a  daughter  in  each  hand,  mournfully  returned  up  the 
path. 

Genevieve  herself  felt  a  weight  at  her  heart.  On  reaching 
the  battery,  she  involuntarily  stopped.  The  boat  with  the 
rose-coloured  sail,  which  carried  away  all  their  visions  of 
meeting  and  of  holiday-making,  had  disappeared;  but  the 
black  barge  was  there  at  their  feet — she  had  just  reached  the 
shore — imprisonment,  sorrow,  and  sickness  in  her  train.  Ge- 
nevieve kissed  her  two  children,  with  difBculty  restraining  a 
tear  which  rose  to  her  eyes,  and  hastened  in,  without  caring 
to  see  more. 

Meantune,  Matthew  had  gone  to  receive  the  quarantiners, 
and  to  open  the  lazaretto  for  them.  When  he  returned,  he 
was  rather  pale,  and  his  face  had  an  expression  by  which 
Genevieve  was  struck ;  but  at  the  first  question  she  put  to 
him,  he  hastily  interrupted  her,  to  ask  her  what  had  become 
of  Jeannette  and  Francine. 

"Don't  you  see  them?"  replied  she,  pointing  to  the  two 
little  girls,  who  were  sitting  in  the  dark,  still  sobbing,  with 
tears  in  their  eyes.  "Did  you  think  they  had  gone  away 
with  their  cousin?" 

"  Would  to  God  they  had  I "  murmured  Matthew,  in  an- 
guish, and  low  enough  not  to  be  heard  by  the  children. 

Genevieve  looked  at  him  thunderstruck. 

"Why?"  asked  she;  "what  has  happened?  For  God's 
sake,  speak,  Matthew  ;  what  is  the  matter?" 

"  Well,"  replied  the  lazaretto-keeper,  "  the  matter  is  that 
death  is  in  the  isle  I" 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?" 


76  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDjfiE. 

"  What  I  have  seen,  my  poor  wife !  The  barge  of  the 
*  Thetis'  has  just  landed  the  doctors  and  nurses,  with  eight 
sick  not  one  of  whom  will  see  the  mainland  again." 

"  Heavens  I  what  is  it  ?" 

"The  yellow  fever  I" 


THE  LAZARETTO-KEEPEB.  f? 


CHAPTER  11. 


THE  PATH  DOWN  THE  CLIFFS. 


To  him  who  lives  inland,  the  yellow  fever  is  only  one 
of  a  thousand  diseases  known  merely  by  name.  Neither 
the  traditions  of  his  family  nor  his  own  recollections  can  con- 
nect it  with  grief  or  fear ;  but  among  oiir  seafaring  popula- 
tion this  word  strikes  like  a  funeral  knell.  It  not  only  recalls 
the  thought  of  dangers  encountered,  but  it  re-awakens  sor- 
rows— old  or  recent.  In  a  place  where  every  family  has  one 
object  of  love  in  some  distant  land,  this  terrible  disease  is  too 
well  known  by  the  sight  of  widows  and  orphans  it  has  made. 
Like  the  storm  and  the  reef,  it  is  one  of  the  great  enemies  of 
life.  The  sound  of  its  name  produces  the  same  effect  as  the 
wind  when  it  whistles,  or  the  waves  when  they  roar.  When 
men  hear  it,  they  look  at  one  another,  and  they  think  of  the 
absent,  perhaps  of  the  dead. 

But  Ropars  now  thought  chiefly  of  the  present.  In  truth, 
he  had  more  cause  to  tremble  than  others.  Formerly,  when 
in  the  midst  of  a  raging  yellow  fever,  he  had  seen  the  crews 
of  all  the  fleet  cut  down  around  him,  and  himself  saved  as  by 
a  miracle.  The  thoughts  of  this  "  slaughter,"  as  he  called 
it,  had  remained  impressed  on  his  mind  ;  and  he  had  too  often 
spoken  of  it  to  Genevieve  for  them  not  to  feel  their  courage 


78  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

shaken.  Neither  of  them  feared  for  self,  but  each  for  those 
whose  lives  were  dearer  far.  Matthew's  first  thought  rested 
on  his  wife  and  children  ;  Genevieve's  first  movement  was 
to  gather  them  together  within  her  arms,  crying  out  that 
they  must  fly.  The  old  sailor  had  some  diflSculty  in  making 
her  understand  that  to  leave  the  isle,  even  if  it  had  not  been 
dishonourable  for  him,  was  now  impossible.  The  barge  had 
sailed  again  for  the  frigate,  and  the  yellow  flag  was  hoisted 
on  the  lazaretto  flagstaff".  Quarantine  had  begun  for  all  those 
who  happened  to  be  at  Treberon — not  one  of  them  could 
henceforth  pass  its  limits  ;  and  Eopars  showed  Genevieve  the 
pinnace  sent  by  the  military  authorities,  which  was  just 
about  to  moor  at  half-cable's  distance  from  the  isle,  and  to 
prevent  all  shipping  from  coming  near  it.  They  were,  there- 
fore, shut  in  with  the  infection,  and  condemned  to  run  all  risks 
to  the  end. 

However,  Matthew's  uneasiness,  in  which  the  suddenness  of 
the  event  had  a  share,  did  not  last  long.  The  quarter-master 
soon  recovered  his  old  firmness,  now  softened  a  little  by  the 
affectionate  habits  of  family  life  ;  and  tried  to  calm  the  fears 
of  Genevieve,  by  qualifying  his  own  words,  and  making  light 
of  the  danger.  After  all,  they  had  not  here  the  conditions 
which  favoured  the  pestilence  elsewhere.  They  had  not  to 
contend  against  the  oppressive  sun  of  the  Havannah  or  Brazil ; 
they  had  not  to  do  with  a  formidable  contagion  which  was 
gaining  more  and  more  upon  them,  like  a  fire,  and  leaving 
only  the  dead  behind — but  with  a  sickness  on  the  decline, 
and  from  which,  with  a  few  precautions,  they  might  easily 
escape. 

The  first  and  most  indispensable  of  these  was  to  avoid  the 
rooms  occupied  by  the  quarantiners,  and  never  to  remain  to 
leeward  of  the  lazaretto.  Jeannette  and  Francine  were 
warned  immediately.     Genevieve  explained  to  them  at  great 


THE  LAZARETTO-KEEPER.  79 

length  all  that  must  be  done,  now  with  threatening  and  now 
with  moving  words.  First,  she  told  them  that  sickness  or  even 
death  would  be  the  punishment  for  the  least  disobedience ; 
then  when  she  saw  them  get  pale  with  fear,  she  encouraged 
them  again  by  her  kisses  and  endearments. 

Matthew  added  to  lier  advice  something  more  distinct  and 
more  certain.  In  the  morning,  he  marked  out  an  enclosure 
with  stakes  and  a  cord,  which  was  to  serve  the  children  for  a 
sanitary  line.  As  an  additional  precaution,  the  goat  herself 
was  brought  into  the  enclosure,  where  she  was  tethered,  and 
fed  on  hay. 

The  keeper  left  off  his  usual  intercourse  with  the  lazaretto 
servants  and  doctors.  He  would  have  been  ignorant  of 
the  fate  of  the  quarantiners,  if  every  evening  the  sight 
of  two  or  three  men  going  down  towards  the  sea-shore,  and 
the  sound  of  a  hand-bell  which  warned  him  out  of  the  way, 
had  not  told  him  that  they  were  going  to  dig  a  grave.  The 
gaps  were,  however,  soon  filled  up  by  new  sick  men  brought 
in  the  frigate's  barge  ;  for  the  fever  did  not  seem  to  decrease 
or  take  a  milder  form.  No  convalescent  had  yet  appeared  on 
the  terrace  of  the  lazaretto.  The  pinnace-boat  belonging  to 
the  health  office  came  in  every  morning,  but  without  touching 
the  shore.  It  landed  the  provisions  or  medicines  by  the  pass- 
rope  put  up  in  the  creek,  received  the  surgeon's  report  at  the 
end  of  a  boat-hook,  and  then  set  sail  with  a  rapidity  which 
showed  the  fear  excited  by  the  contagion. 

However,  after  the  first  few  days,  the  fears  of  Ropars  and 
Genevieve  were  a  little  relieved.  The  blows  which  death  was 
striking  around  them  were  silent  and  unseen,  and  the  sting 
of  anxiety  insensibly  grew  blunter.  When  they  saw  that  life 
was  possible  in  contact  with  the  formidable  disease,  both  of 
them  half  forgot  that  death  was  possible  too.  What  happens 
to  the  inhabitants  of  a  besieged  town,  who  no  longer  start  at 


80  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VEND]^E. 

the  report  of  cannon,  happened  to  them :  the  bell  might  sound 
every  evening,  and  the  barge  bring  new  sick  and  dying  every 
morning — still  the  unbroken  recurrence  of  the  danger  accus- 
tomed them  to  it,  and  custom  produced  a  sense  of  security. 
At  times  even,  Genevieve  forgot  it  all,  and  would  begin  her 
songs  again  ;  but  at  sight  of  the  yellow  flag,  or  at  some  sudden 
thought  which  went  through  her  heart,  she  would  stop 
abruptly,  and  the  song  ended  in  a  sigh. 

Eopars  had  inquired  for  M.  Gabriel  on  the  arrival  of  the 
first  patients.  The  fever  had  not  then  attacked  him ;  but  the 
interruption  of  all  intercourse  with  the  lazaretto  servants  and 
the  boats'  crews  had  prevented  him  renewing  his  inquiries. 
Several  parties  had  landed,  without  his  being  able  to  inquire 
after  the  lieutenant,  when  at  last  he  received  a  note  cut 
through  with  scissors,  and  soaked  in  vinegar.  It  only  con- 
tained these  words,  written  in  pencil — 

"  I  am  here.  If  I  live,  we  shall  meet  again  ;  if  I  die,  take 
this  letter  to  the  captain  of  the  Thetis,  and  claim  my  large 
mahogany  box,  for  Jeannette.  Gabriel." 

The  writing  was  almost  illegible,  and  betrayed  a  hand 
shaking  with  the  fever.  Matthew,  who  was  both  grieved  and 
shocked,  now  forgot  every  precaution,  and  ran  to  the  laza- 
retto ;  but  the  doctor  would  not  let  him  see  the  lieutenant, 
about  whom  he  seemed  to  have  serious  uneasiness.  In  the 
evening,  the  fever  became  worse,  and  allowed  but  little  hope ; 
the  next  morning,  there  was  no  longer  even  that. 

Jeannette,  who  had  been  left  in  ignorance  of  the  name  of 
the  frigate  in  which  the  fever  was  raging,  did  not  suspect 
the  danger  of  her  friend ;  but  she  and  her  sister  had  not  the 
less  lost  all  their  mirth.  Kept  prisoners  within  the  enclosure 
marked  out  by  their  father,  both  of  them  were  sitting  mourn- 
fully near  the  tethered  goat,  v/hich  lay  at  their  feet,  and  seemed 


THE  LAZARETTO-KEEPER.  81 

to  disdain  the  hay  scattered  before  her.  Jeannette,  with 
Francine  leaning  on  her  lap,  had  proposed  in  succession  all 
the  games  they  knew ;  hut  the  child  hung  her  head,  and  fixed 
her  eyes  on  the  sea. 

"Then  what  will  you  do,  Zina?"  asked  she,  saddened  by 
her  sadness. 

She  did  not  answer.  Her  elder  sister  put  her  hand  on  her 
fair  hair,  and  played  for  a  moment  with  the  ringlets. 

"  You  want  to  go  down  there  and  see  Michael,  don't  you  ?" 
resumed  she,  stooping  towards  the  little  girl ;  "  but  it  is  of  no 
use,  for  the  cherry  blossoms  are  over." 

"Then  do  you  think  the  cherries  are  ripe  now?"  inter- 
rupted Francine,  turning  her  face — which,  from  lassitude,  was 
less  rosy  than  usual — towards  Jeannette,  and  with  her  great 
eyes  full  of  curiosity. 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  her  elder  sister ;  "  mother  will  tell 
us.  But  we  must  now  think  of  something  else ;  you  know 
very  well  we  must  not  go  to  the  powder-magazine." 

"  Nor  to  the  end  of  the  isle,  nor  anywhere,"  added  Fran- 
cine, falling  back  again  on  Jeannette's  lap. 

The  latter,  who  wished  in  any  way  to  amuse  her,  then 
pointed  to  the  goat,  which  had  just  got  up.  Brunette,  suddenly 
roused  from  a  doze,  was  making  such  fantastical  evolutions 
round  her  tether,  that  the  child's  melancholy  gave  way,  and 
she  could  not  resist  a  burst  of  laughter.  Jeannette  at  first 
joined  in  her  mirth ;  but  fearing  that  the  movements  of  the 
headstrong  creature  would  break  the  cord,  she  put  out  her 
hand  to  prevent  it. 

"Let  go,  let  go  I"  cried  Francine,  laughing.  "See  how 
she  stands  up  1  see  how  she  dances  I  Bravo,  Brunette !  faster, 
my  pet,  faster  1" 

The  child  knelt  on  the  sand,  and  clapped  her  hands  with 
cries  of  joy ;  whilst  the  goat,  seemingly  excited  by  her  VQJce 


82  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

and  the  noise,  redoubled  her  frolicsome  tricks.  Suddenly 
the  stake,  which  so  many  jerks  had  loosened,  gave  way, 
and  was  torn  from  the  ground.  The  creature  bounded  aside, 
and  no  longer  feeling  any  restraint,  made  towards  the  other 
end  of  the  isle. 

At  first,  the  two  sisters  screamed  out ;  then,  with  unthink- 
ing impulse,  they  both  rushed  forward  in  pursuit  of  her. 
They  passed  the  boundary-cord,  and  were  soon  far  away 
among  the  escarpments,  calling  Brunette,  which,  as  was  her 
custom,  waited  bleating  for  them  to  come  up,  and  then  darted 
off  as  they  reached  her.  Thus,  carried  away  by  the  chase, 
they  reached  the  top  of  the  isle,  followed  the  slopes  which 
went  down  to  the  sea,  and  arrived  at  the  bottom  of  the 
ravine  over  against  their  home.  It  was  only  there  that 
Jeannette  became  conscious  of  their  disobedience.  Out  of 
breath,  she  stopped,  and  keeping  back  her  sister  in  her  arms, 
she  cried — 

"We  must  go  no  farther,  Zina.  We  ought  not  to  have 
come  here ;  mother  told  us  not." 

The  little  girl  looked  round  her,  and  she,  too,  remarked 
the  place  where  they  were.  It  was  a  large  cleft  in  the  solid 
rock  of  the  isle,  at  the  bottom  of  which  grew  tufts  of  large 
ferns  and  flowering  broom.  On  the  right  and  left,  the  sides 
of  the  rock  were  covered  with  creepers;  sea-grasses  with 
purple  pods,  and  fox-gloves,  with  their  long  stems  loaded  with 
rose-coloured  bells,  grew  out  of  the  crevices. 

At  sight  of  them,  Francine  gave  a  scream  of  delight.  It 
was  the  first  green,  and  the  first  flowers,  she  had  seen  since 
the  strict  regulations  had  kept  her  on  the  barren  flat  where 
the  keeper's  house  stood.  So  she  could  not  resist  the  tempta- 
tion ;  and  she  escaped  from  her  sister  without  listening  to  her, 
and  running  away,  she  disappeared  into  the  midst  of  the 
flowering:  bushes. 


THE  LAZAKETTO-KEEPER.  83 

After  calling  her  in  vain,  Jeannette  followed  to  bring  her 
back  ;  but  the  child  ran  from  spray  to  spray  without  stopping. 
In  vain,  at  every  handful  of  flowers,  did  Jeannette  cry, 
"  That's  enough  1 "  Francine  replied,  "  No,  no ;  more ! "  and 
heaped  into  her  apron,  which  she  held  by  the  two  corners,  all 
that  her  hands  could  pull.  The  ground  itself  must  fail  her 
before  she  could  agree  to  leave  her  harvest.  At  last,  when 
she  was  loaded  with  grasses  and  wild-flowers,  which  fell  in 
garlands  to  her  feet,  she  consented  to  take  once  more  the  hand 
of  Jeannette,  who  carefully  pushed  back  the  prickly  furze, 
while  she  tried  to  find  the  path. 

The  two  children  had  just  reached  the  border  of  the  little 
thicket  of  heath  and  broom,  when  they  heard  the  warning 
hand-bell  above  their  heads.  They  stopped,  and  looked  up : 
four  lazaretto  servants  were  coming  down  towards  the  ravine, 
with  their  funereal  burden.  They  were  following  the  only 
practicable  path  down  the  rock,  and  the  two  little  girls  could 
not  go  on  without  meeting  them.  They  drew  back  in  terror 
into  the  bushes  which  still  hid  them,  and  waited  there,  press- 
ing close  to  one  another. 

The  hand- bell  rang  at  what  seemed  convulsive  intervals, 
and  each  time  nearer.  At  last,  they  heard  the  bearers'  heavy 
tread  along  the  rock,  and  saw  their  dark  shadows  visible  in 
the  twilight ;  they  came  on  towards  the  little  oasis  where  the 
children  had  taken  shelter. 

On  reaching  its  entrance,  they  seemed  to  consult  for  a  mo- 
ment, then  proceeding  into  the  midst  of  the  prickly  bushes, 
they  turned  round  by  the  clump  behind  which  the  two  sisters 
were  crouching,  and  stopped,  saying — 

"  It  is  here  1" 

Francine  hid  her  head  in  Jeannette's  lap  in  terror;  but 
sh^,  more  bold  than  her  sister,  softly  moved  the  branches 
back,  and  then  perceived  a  grave  ready  dug  in  the  gravel. 


84  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

The  bearers  had  placed  the  body,  wrapped  in  a  coarse  sheet, 
on  the  ground ;  they  took  a  sack  out  of  one  of  the  clefts  of 
the  rock  and  emptied  its  contents  into  the  grave.  The  white 
powder,  which  rose  in  a  cloud,  diffused  the  pungent  smell  of 
lime  as  far  as  the  children.  The  men  spread  it  carefully  over 
the  bottom  of  the  grave,  as  a  bed  for  the  corpse,  and  sprinkled 
it  with  water  fetched  from  the  sea.  All  these  prepara- 
tions were  performed  in  ominous  silence.  Nothing  was  heard 
but  the  clink  of  the  shovel  against  the  rocky  soil,  and  the 
monotonous  sound  of  the  little  waves  as  the  evening  wind 
drove  them  in  upon  the  beach.  Jeannette,  with  stretched- 
out  neck,  eyes  wide  open,  and  a  heart  wrung  with  painful 
oppression,  continued  looking. 

Just  then  two  of  the  bearers  took  the  body  and  brought  it 
up  to  the  grave.  There  was  nothing  between  them  and  the 
children  but  the  clump  of  shrubs.  As  they  grazed  by  it  with 
their  load,  a  gust  of  wind  blew  aside  a  corner  of  the  coarse 
winding-sheet ;  a  ghastly  head  appeared  by  the  closing  light 
of  evening,  and  Jeannette  uttered  a  stifled  cry. 

The  fall  of  the  corpse  into  the  grave  prevented  its  being 
heard  ;  but  that  glance  had  been  enough — the  child  had  re- 
cognised the  face  of  M.  Gabriel ! 

She  recoiled  with  an  inexpressible  shock.  It  was  the  first 
time  death  had  struck  her  sight,  and  it  appeared  to  her  under 
circumstances  which  filled  her  with  grief  and  fear.  She  clung 
to  Francine,  and  began  to  tremble  in  all  her  limbs.  The  noise 
of  the  earth  and  gravel  falling  into  the  grave  seemed  to  turn 
her  to  stone.  It  was  only  when  the  four  grave-diggers  had 
left  the  ravine,  and  disappeared  along  the  path,  that  her  sobs 
burst  out.  Francine  raised  her  head  and  asked  what  was  the 
matter ;  but  receiving  no  answer,  she  threw  herself  into  her 
arms,  sobbing  in  her  turn. 

The  tears  of  her  little  sister  seemed  to  stop  those  of  Jean- 


THE  LAZAEETTO-KEEPER.  85 

nette,  who  tried  to  suppress  her  sobs,  and  began  to  kiss  and 
console  Francine. 

"  Hush !"  stammered  she,  half  choking  in  spite  of  herself; 
"  don't  be  afraid — don't  cry  ! " 

"  What's  the  matter,  Jeannie,  what's  the  matter  ?"  repeated 
the  child,  taking  her  sister's  head  between  her  two  hands,  and 
kissing  her  wet  cheeks. 

"  It  is  nothing,"  replied  Jeannette,  her  accent  belying  her 
words  ;  "  I  was  startled." 

"  Are  the  men  gone  ?"  asked  Francine,  looking  with  fright 
in  the  direction  of  the  grave. 

''  You  see  they  are,"  replied  Jeannette,  shuddering. 

"What  did  they  come  here  for?  They  were  carrying 
something  :  it  was  a  dead  man,  was  it  not?" 

Her  sister  put  her  hand  upon  her  lips. 

"  Don't  speak  of  it,  Zina,"  faltered  she,  again  overwhelmed 
by  her  sobs. 

"  Did  you  see  him  ?"  asked  the  child,  half  curious  and  half 
frightened. 

"  Yes,  0  yes  1 "  stammered  her  sister,  "  and  I  knew  him 
again — it  is  M.  Gabriel!" 

"Your  kind  friend!"  cried  Francine.  "Are  you  really 
sure,  Jeannie  ?  And  is  he  there — under  the  ground  ?  Oh  ! 
let  us  go  ;  I  am  afraid — I  am  afraid  I " 

She  threw  herself  again  into  her  sister's  arms,  who  tried  to 
pacify  her,  and  to  restrain  her  own  tears. 

"  Peace,  Zina  ! "  said  she  in  a  broken  voice  ;  "  we  must  be 
quiet — we  must  dry  our  eyes,  or  mother  will  be  uneasy." 

And  suddenly  getting  up,  she  added — 

"  Hark  !  I  think  they  are  calling  us ;  quick !  quick  !  let 
us  go  up." 

At  these  words  the  two  little  girls  got  up,  and  leaving  the 


86  BKITTANY  AND  LA  VENDEE. 

ravine  returned  in  all  haste  to  the  battery,  which  they  reached 
trembling  and  out  of  breath. 

Genevieve  was  there  waiting  for  them ;  but  the  night, 
which  had  set  in,  prevented  her  remarking  their  trouble.  She 
led  them  home,  heard  them  both  say  their  prayers  together, 
and  they  went  to  bed  without  having  said  anything  of  the 
adventure  in  the  ravine. 


THE  LAZARETTO-KEEPEB.  87 


CHAPTER  III. 


THE  WAY  BY  THE  REEF. 


Jeannette  slept  badly ;  and  the  next  day  when  she  got 
np,  she  looked  pale  and  worn.  Genevieve  perceived  it,  and 
anxiously  questioned  her,  but  the  child  replied  she  had 
nothing  the  matter  with  her.  But  her  eyes  filled  with  tears, 
and  her  voice  trembled  at  each  question. 

So  she  passed  the  day  in  lassitude.  In  the  evening  she 
felt  more  exhausted,  but  still  she  suffered  no  pain  ;  her  night 
was  restless,  and  the  next  morning  Eopars  sent  for  the  doctor 
of  the  lazaretto. 

He  looked  at  the  child,  and  asked  several  questions  at 
which  Matthew's  brow  grew  gloomy.  Genevieve,  whose  eyes 
went  from  the  doctor  to  her  husband,  perceived  it.  She  felt 
her  heart  sink  within  her.  The  moment  they  crossed  the 
threshold,  she  followed  them,  shut  the  door  quickly,  and 
stopped  them. 

"It  is  the  sickness,  is  it  not?"  asked  she  with  anguish. 

She  dared  not  name  the  yellow  fever.  The  doctor  seemed 
unwilling  to  answer. 

"  Oh  1  I  am  sure  of  it  I "  cried  she,  confirmed  in  her  suspicion 
by  his  hesitation.  *'  Then  all  our  care  has  been  of  no  use  ? 
It  is  come— it  is  all  over  ! " 

She  sank  upon  the  stone  bench  at  the  door,  and  covered  her 


88  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VEND15e. 

face  with  her  apron.  The  doctor  tried  to  comfort  her  with 
vague  hopes  ;  hut  it  was  evident  that  he  had  no  expectation 
of  success  from  anything  he  could  do.  He  was  already  con- 
quered by  the  inveterate  force  of  the  infection,  and  only  con- 
tinued to  fight  against  it  from  duty,  and  when  hope  was  gone, 
like  those  soldiers  who,  for  the  honour  of  their  flag,  silently 
devote  themselves  in  defence  of  a  post  abandoned  to  the 
enemy.  Then,  perceiving  that  his  words,  far  from  calming 
Genevieve's  grief,  seemed  to  increase  it,  he  turned  towards 
the  keeper,  to  whom  he  briefly  repeated  the  prescriptions  he 
had  already  given  for  the  sick  child,  and  then  went  back 
to  the  lazaretto. 

Eopars  remained  for  some  moments  in  the  same  place,  with 
his  arms  folded,  and  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground  ;  but  a  loud 
sob  from  Genevieve  made  him  raise  them.  He  took  her 
hand — 

"The  time  is  not  yet  come  for  despair,"  said  he,  with  a 
gentle  firmness ;  "  when  God  has  declared  against  us,  you 
will  have  the  rest  of  your  life  for  tears.  At  present,  let  us 
attend  to  our  duty  by  doing  what  the  captain  orders." 

"  And  did  he  say  nothing?"  cried  the  mother,  who  wished 
in  her  heart  that  the  doctor  had  combated  her  fears  more  de- 
cidedly ;  "  did  he  give  no  hope  ?" 

"  We  are  in  God's  hands,"  replied  Matthew  simply  ;  "  and 
as  long  as  He  does  not  declare  His  will,  we  may  trust  that 
all  will  go  well ;  but  if  the  dear  child  must  leave  us,  let  us 
show  at  least  to  the  last  moment  how  precious  we  feel  the 
charge." 

Just  then  they  heard  the  child's  feverish  voice. 

"  Ah  !  she  calls  me  !"  cried  Genevieve,  hurriedly  rising  to 
go  in. 

Eopars  stopped  her. 

"  First  wipe  your  eyes,"  said  he,  passing  his  own  hand 


THE  LAZARETTO-KEEPER.  89 

fondly  over  the  moist  eyelids  of  the  poor  mother ;  "  Jeannette 
must  not  think  that  you  are  anxious.  Her  life  may  depend 
upon  it ;  do  you  imderstand  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes,"  replied  she  ;  "  never  fear,  Matthew,  I  will  cry 
no  more ; "  and  she  tried  to  dry  her  eyes,  which  always  filled 
again  with  fresh  tears.  "  There,  no  one  can  see  anything 
now.  Besides,  the  doctors  maybe  mistaken,  may  they  not? 
And  then — God  will  have  pity  upon  us  I " 

"  We  must  hope  so,"  replied  the  keeper,  much  affected ; 
"  but  while  we  look  to  Him  for  pity,  it  is  for  us  to  show  resig- 
nation. Come,  my  brave  heart,  smile  on  your  child — it  will 
do  her  good.  And  before  you  go  back  to  her,  kiss  me — that 
will  give  us  both  courage ! " 

Jeannette's  mother  threw  her  arms  round  her  husband's 
neck  with  a  fresh  burst  of  tears  ;  but  she  stopped  at  the  voice 
of  the  sick  child  calling  her  a  second  time,  and  with  a  last 
effort  she  forced  her  despair  back  into  the  very  depths  of  her 
heart,  and  darted  into  the  house  with  a  calm  brow  and  a 
smile  upon  her  lips. 

In  the  meantime,  Jeannette  rapidly  grew  worse.  By  the 
evening  the  fever  had  greatly  increased.  She  talked  in  turn 
of  her  sister  Francine,  of  Michael,  of  the  cherry-tree  in  blos- 
som, of  her  kind  friend  M.  Gabriel.  Sometimes  she  thought 
she  heard  him,  she  called  him — she  wished  to  know  if  he  had 
brought  her  the  presents  he  had  promised  ;  at  other  times,  the 
recollection  of  the  scene  in  the  ravine  returned  to  her  memory. 
She  cried  out  that  he  was  dead,  and  that  she  heard  the  earth 
being  thrown  upon  him  in  the  grave. 

The  doctor  came  back  several  times,  and  prescribed  more 
remedies,  without  being  able  to  stop  the  progress  of  the  dis- 
ease. It  was  a  dreadful  night  for  the  poor  mother,  holding 
her  child,  who  was  becoming  more  and  more  light-headed,  in 
her  arms.     When  the  sun  rose,  her  restless  delirium  ceased ; ' 


90  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

but  only  to  give  place  to  the  lethargy  whicli  precedes  death. 
At  last,  towards  the  middle  of  the  day,  Jeannette  opened  her 
eyes,  and  heaved  a  sigh — it  was  her  last ! 

The  blow  was  too  surely  expected  for  Eopars  and  Gene- 
vieve's grief  to  be  loud ;  the  pain  of  their  loss  had,  so  to  say, 
come  first — both  had  drunk  it  drop  by  drop  during  that  long 
agony.  The  mother's  calmness,  however,  had  something  so 
haggard  in  it,  that  it  would  have  terrified  one  less  over- 
whelmed with  sorrow  than  Matthew.  She  would  herself  pay 
the  last  duties  to  her  child;  she  combed  out  her  beautiful 
black  hair,  dressed  her  in  her  best  clothes,  laid  her  out,  and 
joined  her  two  hands  over  her  heart,  as  Jeannette  used  to  do 
in  sleep.  All  these  ofiices  were  performed  slowly,  quietly, 
with  a  sort  of  satisfaction ;  and  often  she  added  her  kisses. 
Scarcely  did  a  tear  steal  at  intervals  down  her  cheeks  marked 
with  burning  spots,  or  a  slight  trembling  agitate  her  hand,  as 
it  fulfilled  its  mournful  task.  At  last,  when  she  who  had 
brought  this  child  into  the  world,  and  who  had  fed  her  with 
her  milk,  and  cherished  her  with  her  love,  had  herself  wrapped 
her  in  her  shroud,  she  went  to  the  window,  plucked  a  white 
gillyflower — the  only  one  the  sea-wind  had  spared,  and  scat- 
tered its  leaves  over  the  winding-sheet. 

In  the  meantime,  night  had  come.  As  the  shadows  gathered 
round  the  bed,  the  form  of  the  dead  showed  dimly  under  its 
linen  covering,  like  some  half-finished  statue ;  and  above 
hung  an  ivory  crucifix,  with  drooping  head  and  extended 
arms. 

Genevieve  fell  on  her  knees  at  the  bedside,  and  remained  a 
long  time  with  her  head  resting  on  her  clasped  hands.  She 
gently  murmured  a  prayer ;  but  though  her  lips  repeated  all 
its  words,  its  sense  did  not  reach  her  mind.  When  she  had 
finished,  she  got  up  mechanically,  and  looked  round  her ;  her 
brain  was  a  dark  chaos.     She  raised  her  two  hands  to  her 


THE  LAZARETTO-KEEPER.  91 

forehead,  wliich  she  pressed  with  a  stifled  ciy,  as  if  she  would 
arrest  that  whirlwind  of  confused  and  heart-rending  thoughts. 
There  was  a  struggle  for  a  moment  between  despair  and  reso- 
lution. Then  the  latter  gained  the  advantage,  and  she  went 
towards  the  door  and  opened  it. 

Her  husband  had  withdrawn  to  tlie  battery  with  Francine, 
to  spare  her  the  painful  sight  of  the  laying  out.  She  per- 
ceived him  standing  near  the  parapet ;  the  little  girl  was  close 
to  him,  and  resting  her  head  against  his  knees.  Since  the 
death  of  her  sister,  she  had  not  uttered  a  word.  As  she  stood 
motionless,  with  open  eyes  and  compressed  lips,  she  seemed 
trying  to  understand  it.  Her  two  little  hands  hung  idly 
down,  and  her  bare  feet  were  as  if  fixed  upon  the  ground. 

On  seeing  her  thus,  in  the  light  of  the  rising  moon,  which 
played  on  her  fair  hair,  Genevieve  seemed  to  come  to  herself ; 
a  gleam  passed  over  her  pallid  features,  she  breathed  more 
freely,  and  a  flood  of  tears  streamed  from  her  eyes.  She 
threw  herself  towards  the  child,  whom  she  raised  in  her  arms 
in  a  sort  of  passion  of  grief,  which  Francine  immediately  took 
part  in  by  a  burst  of  kisses  and  sobs.  For  a  long  time  there 
was  only  an  exchange  of  broken  words  and  unfinished  sen- 
tences. The  little  girl  asked  for  her  sister ;  and  her  mother, 
whose  grief  was  renewed  by  these  questions,  tried  to  stifle 
them  with  her  kisses.  At  last,  when  quite  exhausted,  she 
relaxed  the  embrace  with  which  she  was  holding  Francine, 
and  she  felt  some  one  gently  taking  her  away. 

It  was  Matthew,  who  put  the  child  on  the  ground.  He 
drew  her  mother  a  little  further  off,  and  obliged  her  to  sit  on 
the  stone  bench  set  against  the  parapet.  She  endeavoured  to 
get  up,  and  stretched  out  her  arms. 

"  My  child  !"  stammered  she  through  her  sobs  ;  "  I  want 
my  child  1" 

"  Directly,  thou  shalt  have  her,"  said  Eopars,  who,  as  is 


92  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

the  custom  of  the  Breton  peasants,  only  said  "thou"  to  Gene- 
vieve when  under  strong  emotion;*  "but  first  thou  must 
listen  with  all  thy  heart,  for  what  I  have  to  say  is  of  great 
consequence." 

"Ah!  I  wish  I  could!"  said  she,  holding  her  head  be- 
tween her  two  hands.  "  But  do  not  be  angry,  Matthew,  if  it 
is  impossible;  I  hear  something  out  there,  you  see,  which 
silences  everything  else  ;  it  is  her  death-rattle,  dear  husband ! 
And,  do  you  know,  I  love  the  pain  it  gives  me  to  hear  it — I 
can  think  she  breathes  still.  Oh,  Jesus  1  who  would  have 
said  that  I  should  grieve  not  to  hear  the  death-gasp  of  my 
child!" 

Eopars  put  his  hand  upon  the  head  of  his  poor  wife,  who 
began  to  sob  again. 

"  Compose  yourself,"  resumed  he,  firmly  yet  tenderly ; 
"  God  would  have  us  submit,  and  not  despair.  Our  child  is 
now  in  His  paradise,  where  she  has  no  more  need  of  us ;  but 
she  leaves  a  sister  behind  her  whose  life  is  in  our  charge." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Genevieve,  stopping  her 
tears,  and  raising  her  nov7  anxious  eyes  towards  him. 

"Don't  you  understand?"  replied  the  keeper,  in  a  lower 
tone  ;  "  the  fever's  blast  is  like  the  sea's — it  spares  no  one,  and 
at  any  moment  may  send  the  living  to  join  the  dead  !" 

"0  God  our  Saviour!  is  this  a  wammg?"  asked  Gene- 
vieve, clasping  her  hands.  "  Can  the  child  be  struck  ?  Have 
you  remarked  anything  ?  Ah  !  tell  me  the  truth,  Matthew  ; 
tell  it  at  once.     I  had  rather  be  killed  by  one  blow  !" 

"  The  child  has  no  other  ill  but  her  grief,"  said  Eopars ; 
"  but  if  she  stays  in  this  air  of  death,  who  can  promise  us  that 
she  shall  escape  ?" 

"  Wo  to  us  ! "  cried  Genevieve,  raising  her  clasped  hands 

*  In  other  parts  of  France,  the  usage  is  not  so  restricted  among  relations  and  intimate 
ftiends.— 3V. 


THE  LAZAKETTO-KEEPER.  93 

above  her  head.  "  Why  did  you  tell  me  ?  I  wished  not  to 
think  of  it ;  now  I  shall  see  her  die  every  hour.  God  forgive 
you,  for  so  stirring  the  knife  already  in  my  heart  I" 

"  If  I  touch  it,  it  is  only  to  draw  it  out,"  observed  the 
quarter-master.  "  This  is  no  time  to  shut  the  eyes  and  let 
the  squall  come,  but  to  work  the  ship  to  save  our  darling. 
If  she  remain  on  the  isle,  you  have  but  too  much  chance  of 
making  her  winding-sheet,  Genevieve ;  she  must  go  directly." 

"  But  how  ?  what  way  is  there  ?" 

Eopars  looked  round  him,  to  be  sure  that  nobody  heard  him. 

"  There  is  one,"  replied  he  cautiously. 

"The  magazine-boat?" 

"No." 

"The  pinnace?" 

"  You  know  she  lies  there  to  watch  the  isle." 

"Then  what  can  help  us?" 

"  The  tide." 

Genevieve  looked  at  her  husband,  without  understanding 
him. 

"  It  is  now  the  spring-tide,"  resumed  Matthew ;  "  in  less 
than  an  hour  the  sea  will  have  ebbed  enough  to  leave  but 
four  feet  of  water  over  the  line  of  reefs  which  run  from  Tre- 
beron  to  the  Isle  of  Graves.  With  a  stout  heart,  and  God's 
help,  a  man  may  risk  the  crossing.  I  will  carry  the  child  to 
Dorot." 

And  as  the  mother  could  not  restrain  an  exclamation  of 
terror,  he  added  quickly — 

"  Not  so  loud,  unhappy  woman  I  do  you  wish  to  betray  me  ? 
Except  the  magazine-keeper  and  myself,  nobody  knows  of 
this  sea-road ;  we  have  often  taken  it  when  we  were  fishing 
together,  and  always  got  in  safe." 

"But  not  in  the  night,"  interrupted  Genevieve;  "not 
carrying  a  child ! " 


94  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

"  The  child  is  hardly  any  weight,  and  the  moon  is  at  its 
full,"  resumed  Eopars,  rather  impatiently.  "  Besides,  I  have 
been  thinking  over  the  matter  all  the  evening ;  there  is  no 
other  way.  I  have  made  up  my  mind ;  and  I  will  do  what  I 
ought,  whatever  happens.  Your  words  may  weaken  my  con- 
ifidence,  but  they  cannot  keep  me  back.  Then  try  rather  to 
keep  up  my  courage,  as  is  the  duty  of  a  good  wife,  and  get 
everything  ready  for  the  child.  When  the  last  point  of  the 
great  rock  is  bare,  it  will  be  time  for  me  to  attempt  the  pas- 
sage, and  for  you  to  pray  God  to  open  us  a  safe  crossing 
through  the  sea." 

The  boatswain's  tone  was  so  determined,  that  Genevieve 
saw  the  uselessness  of  all  opposition.  In  the  ordinary  acts  of 
life,  Matthew  had  no  will  of  his  own,  and  formed  a  determina- 
tion rarely ;  but  when  he  had  done  so,  and  once  declared  it, 
he  maintained  it  unshaken.  Besides,  when  the  first  shock 
was  over,  his  explanations  and  assurances  somewhat  cabned 
Francine's  mother,  and  he  succeeded  in  half  convincing  her. 
But  there  was  still  the  child,  and  Eopars  dreaded  her  opposi- 
tion or  her  fright.  Genevieve  fetched  her,  and  the  father  and 
mother  seated  her  on  their  knees  together. 

"You  want  to  see  the  cherry-tree  blossom,  don't  you?" 
said  the  latter,  kissing  her. 

The  little  girl  hung  her  head. 

"  Not  now,"  replied  she,  in  a  very  low  tone. 

"  But  this  is  the  very  time,"  added  her  poor  mother  with 
an  effort ;  "  down  there  you  will  have  more  liberty.  You  will 
be  happier ;  you  will  have  Michael  to  play  with." 

"No,"  said  the  child  in  a  broken  voice;  "I  had  rather 
stay  with  Jeannette." 

Genevieve  clasped  her  hands,  closed  her  eyes,  and  her  voice 
failed  her.  It  was  Eopars'  turn.  He  drew  Francine  to  his 
heart,  and  whispered  in  her  ear — 


I 


THE  LAZARETTO-KEEPER.  95 

"  Listen  to  me  :  we  are  in  trouble.  You  would  not  give  ns 
more,  would  you?     You  love  us  too  mucli  for  that." 

Instead  of  answering,  the  child  threw  both  her  arms  round 
her  father's  neck,  and  pressed  her  little  rosy  cheek  against  the 
sailor's  wrinkled  face. 

"  Yes,  yes ;  I  was  sure  of  it,"  continued  Matthew.  "  Then 
you  will  do  everything  we  ask  you?" 

The  child  agreed. 

"  Well,"  continued  Kopars,  "  you  must  go  and  spend  a  few 
days  with  Uncle  Dorot ;  and  as  we  have  no  boat,  I  must  carry 
you  across  the  channel.  You  will  be  still  when  you  are  in 
the  middle  of  the  sea  if  you  have  your  father's  shoulders  for 
a  boat,  won't  you?" 

The  child  shuddered. 

"  I  would  rather  stay  here,"  said  she  hastily. 

"That's  impossible,"  replied  her  father.  "I  must  carry 
you  to  the  powder-magazine ;  it  must  be  so,  and  we  must  go 
directly.  But  if  you  are  not  brave,  if  you  scream,  the  way 
will  be  more  diflBcult,  and  perhaps  some  harm  may  come  to 
me.     Do  you  understand  me?" 

"  Yes,  yes ;  I  will  not  go,"  replied  the  little  girl,  who  was 
now  beginning  to  tremble  with  fear. 

Genevieve  took  her  again  into  her  arms. 

"  Hush  1  hush  I "  said  she,  pressing  her  lips  upon  her  head, 
and  rocking  her  against  her  heart.  "  Children  must  obey — 
God  says  so.  Do  what  you  are  told — for  your  father — for 
me — for  Jeannette !  If  she  could  speak,  she  would  tell  you  to 
be  good  and  brave.  Do  you  wish  to  make  her  unhappy  in 
heaven?" 

"Oh,  nol"  cried  the  child,  throwing  herself  again  into 
Matthew's  arms. 

"Then  you  mean  to  come?"  said  he. 

"  Yes,"  whispered  the  little  girl. 


96  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDI^E. 

"And  you  won't  be  friglitened,  nor  speak  a  word?" 

"No." 

"  Come  along,  then ! "  said  the  keeper,  who  had  risen  and 
looked  over  the  parapet.  "  The  great  rock  is  bare — we  have 
no  time  to  lose." 

He  took  Francine  in  his  arms,  and  went  quickly  down  one 
of  the  paths  leading  to  the  beach.  Genevieve  followed,  in 
unutterable  grief. 

They  all  three  reached  a  rocky  point,  which  projected  a 
long  way  into  the  waves.  It  was  the  end  of  the  line  of  reefs 
which  connected  the  powder-magazine  and  Treberon. 

Eopars  put  the  child  on  the  ground,  while  he  made  out  his 
course.  By  the  light  of  the  moon,  the  channel  looked  of  a 
pale-green  hue,  streaked  with  little  white  lines,  formed  by  the 
waves  lightly  crested  with  foam.  Their  undulations  were 
so  gentle,  that  you  might  have  fancied  it  a  green  corn-field 
chequered  with  ox-eyed  daisies.  Beyond  lay  visible  in  the 
moonlight  the  whole  of  the  Isle  of  Graves,  with  its  yellow 
buildings,  its  long  slated  roofs,  and  its  lightning-conductors 
piercing  the  clouds.  So  calm  was  the  night,  that  the  step  of 
the  sentry  before  the  stone  watch-box  in  the  comer  of  the 
esplanade  could  be  heard.  Between  the  isles,  and  a  little 
in  the  shadow,  the  pinnace  was  silently  lying  on  its  two 
anchors. 

Eopars  scrutinized  everything  strictly :  he  showed  Gene- 
vieve the  course  of  the  road  under  water,  marked  by  a  slightly 
deeper  tinge  on  the  surface  of  the  sea ;  threw  off  his  coat  and 
hat ;  then  taking  both  his  wife's  hands,  as  she  looked  at  him 
distractedly,  he  said — 

"  The  time  is  come,  Genevieve ;  kiss  me,  and  pray  Gk)d  of 
His  mercy  to  be  with  us." 

The  poor  woman  at  first  returned  his  embrace,  without 
being  able  to  say  a  word.     But  when  she  felt  him  letting  go 


THE  LAZARETTO-KEEPER.  97 

her  hands  and  turning  towards  the  child,  who  was  a  few  steps 
off,  she  gave  a  shriek  ;  she  lost  her  self-control ;  she  forgot 
all  that  Matthew  had  said  to  her,  all  she  had  promised  him ; 
and  threw  her  arms  round  him  in  despair  and  terror. 

"  You  shall  not  go,"  stammered  she,  "  you  shall  not  go ! — 
It  is  going  to  death  I  By  your  marriage-vow,  stay  with  me 
— be  my  succour,  and  share  my  trouble  !  Will  you  leave 
me  alone  with  Jeannette  ?  Look,  look  how  great  and  deep 
the  sea  is  ! — you  and  Francine  will  be  lost  in  it !  Oh  I  if  it 
be  God's  will,  let  us  die  ;  but  let  us  die  together !  Matthew, 
I  cannot  bear  that  you  leave  me !  you  shall  not  carry  the 
child  away  I  you  shall  not  go ! " 

Ropars  tried  to  quiet  her,  and  made  an  effort  to  disengage 
himself  from  her  arms.  But  she  clung  to  him,  without  listen- 
ing to  anything ;  and  when  he  reminded  her  that  she  had 
herself,  a  moment  before,  persuaded  Francine  to  go — 

"I  was  wrong!"  said  she  wildly;  "I  wish  it  no  longer! 
If  you  leave  me  I  will  follow  you,  and  you  must  answer  before 
God  for  whatever  happens !  Matthew,  do  not  tempt  me ! — 
Matthew,  have  pity  on  me  I  What  have  I  done  to  you  to 
inake  you  go  thus  readily  to  your  destruction?  do  you  no 
longer  love  life  with  me  ?  Oh !  if  I  have  been  wanting  in 
my  duty,  do  not  remember  it  against  me,  dear  husband !  If 
the  violence  of  my  grief  has  made  you  angry,  forgive  me  !  I 
will  cry  no  more,  Matthew ;  I  will  be  what  you  wish.  Stop, 
think  again,  forgive  me ;  but  say  that  you  will  stay  here  !" 

She  had  gradually  sunk  upon  her  knees,  and  she  held 
Ropars'  hands,  and  pressed  them  to  her  lips.  He  tried  to 
raise  her. 

"Enough,  Genevieve,"  said  he,  in  a  voice  in  which  emotion 
contended  with  impatience.  "I  thought  you  were  braver; 
this  is  not  what  you  promised  me.  Recollect,  unhappy 
woman,  that  the  time  is  passing." 


98  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

Genevieve  sobbed,  and  renewed  her  prayers.  He  tumed 
an  anxious  look  towards  the  sea,  and  saw  the  lowest  points  of 
the  great  rock  dry.  More  delay  would  increase  the  danger, 
and  might  render  the  crossing  impossible.  Matthew  took 
Genevieve  abruptly  by  the  arms,  and  raised  her  up  with  her 
face  close  to  his. 

"As  you  would  be  saved,  listen  to  me  !"  said  he  in  so  de- 
cided a  tone,  that  she  shuddered  at  it.  "  For  the  first  time, 
I  must  remind  you  that  I  am  your  master — and  if  you  are  not 
more  discreet,  perhaps  it  may  be  the  last.  But  by  the  God 
who  made  us,  you  shall  obey,  and  without  more  contention ! 
The  child's  life  is  in  question — ^nothing  shall  stop  me.  Stay 
there,  I  command  you ;  and  do  not  take  a  single  step,  nor 
utter  a  single  sound,  or,  as  sure  as  I'm  my  mother's  son,  I 
will  never  forgive  you  till  the  day  of  judgment!" 

With  these  words,  he  seated  the  thundei-- stricken  Genevieve 
on  a  sandbank,  ran  to  the  little  girl,  whom  he  lifted  on  his 
shoulders,  and  rushed  with  her  into  the  waves. 

When  the  mother  turned  round  at  the  noise  of  the  splash- 
ing water,  he  was  already  on  the  causeway  of  the  sunken 
reef,  and  the  waves  were  rising  to  his  chest.  She  tried  to 
get  up,  but  her  strength  failed  her,  and  she  could  only  utter 
a  feeble  shriek.  Matthew  heard  it,  and  tumed  round.  He 
saw  through  the  darkness  the  dim  form  of  Genevieve  half 
fallen  back  on  the  rock,  stretching  her  clasped  hands  to- 
wards him.  His  heart,  which  he  had  hardened  by  a  resolute 
effort,  gave  way  with  affection.  He  looked  at  the  deep, 
green  sea,  with  its  gulfs  yawning  all  around  him ;  above  his 
head  he  heard  the  breathing  of  the  child,  who  was  panting 
with  terror ;  and  thinking  that  the  poor  woman,  from  whom 
both  had  just  been  torn,  might  never  see  them  again,  the 
love  and  pity  he  felt  for  her  filled  his  eyes  with  tears.  He 
stopped,  in  spite  of  himself,  in  the  midst  of  the  surging  billows, 


THE  LAZAKETTO-KEEPEE.  99 

turned  his  head  to  the  shore,  and  cried  out  in  a  suppressed, 
but  very  gentle  voice — 

"  Do  not  cry,  Genevieve ;  and  may  God  bless  you !  All 
willbeweU!" 

Then,  without  waiting  for  an  answer,  which  he  feared 
would  weaken  his  courage,  he  proceeded  on  his  way,  his  eyes 
fixed  on  the  line  of  water  which  indicated  the  direction  of  the 
reef. 

Soon,  however,  he  failed  to  perceive  the  peculiar  colour  of 
the  waves  which  made  this  line  easy  to  recognise  from  the 
shore.  Now  that  he  was  in  the  sea,  he  could  no  longer  see 
before  him  anything  but  one  uniformly-tossing  plain,  without 
difference  of  movement  or  of  colour.  He  was  obliged  to 
direct  his  course  merely  upon  the  rock  of  the  Isle  of  Graves 
in  which  the  causeway  ended,  and  the  sharp  crags  of  which 
could  just  be  distinguished  in  the  distance. 

Matthew  advanced,  sounding  each  step  before  him  with  a 
broken  boat-hook  with  which  he  was  provided  ;  but  in  spite 
of  his  caution,  the  way  became  more  and  more  difficult.  The 
inequalities  of  the  rocks  exposed  him  to  continual  risks  of 
slipping.  Borne  up  by  the  waves,  deafened  by  the  deep  roar 
around  him,  groping  for  an  uneven  and  unknown  path  with 
a  gulf  on  either  side,  he  proceeded  with  that  extreme  but 
resolute  slowness,  in  which  all  impatience  is  mastered,  and 
the  whole  being  concentrated  in  each  movement.  His  steady 
gaze  seemed  to  pierce  the  liquid  veil  of  waters ;  his  hands, 
grasping  the  boat-hook,  seemed  as  though  they  would  plant 
it  in  the  reef;  and  his  feet  strove,  with  convulsive  energy,  to 
make  out  the  right  path  before  they  took  it. 

In  this  way  he  reached  the  middle  of  the  channel,  where 
the  pinnace  lay  at  anchor.  All  was  silent  and  motionless. 
The  cries  of  "All's  welll"  sung  out  at  intervals  by  the 
night-watch,  had  for  some  time  ceased ;  even  the  two  dark 


100  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDl^E. 

figures,  so  long  immovable  at  their  posts,  had  disappeared. 
The  sailors  of  the  watch,  confident  that  their  look-out  was 
useless,  had  doubtless  fallen  asleep. 

Matthew,  fearing  their  waking,  tried  to  avoid  peril  by 
hurrying  on ;  but  just  as  he  entered  the  shadow  which 
stretched  over  the  moonlit  waves  behind  the  pinnace,  the 
bank  of  rocks,  which  was  gradually  lowering,  suddenly  failed 
him.  Francine  felt  him  sink,  like  a  boat  going  down,  and 
the  water  splashed  over  her  hair.  She  could  not  repress  a 
piercing  scream. 

Her  father  drew  her  to  his  breast  in  alarm,  and  put  his 
hand  over  her  lips ;  but  it  was  too  late.  The  scream  had 
evidently  been  heard,  for  a  dark  figure  suddenly  raised  itself 
from  the  bows.  Eopars  had  only  time  to  throw  himself  under 
the  taffrail  of  the  pinnace,  and  to  seize  a  boom  to  which  he 
clung. 

One  of  the  watch  came  astern,  where  he  was  soon  joined 
by  his  comrade. 

"  Confound  me,  if  I  did  not  hear  a  scream ! "  said  the  first. 

"  Sure  enough,  it  as  good  as  woke  me !"  added  the  other. 

"However,  I've  looked  out  to  no  purpose.  I  can  see 
nothing." 

"  Nor  I." 

Both  were  leaning  over  the  sea,  which  kept  on  its  pleasant 
murmur,  with  nothing  to  be  seen  upon  it  but  the  light  ripples 
with  their  embroidery  of  foam  and  phosphoric  light.  The 
second  watch  seemed  to  be  disturbed  by  something,  which 
made  his  voice  falter. 

"  I  say,  Morvan,"  resumed  he  cautiously,  "  can  the  Eos- 
canvel  and  Lanvoc  boats  have  been  so  often  here,  and  not 
left  some  Christian  under  water?" 

"What  then?" 

"What  then?"  repeated  the  sailor,  who  seemed  divided 


THE  LAZARETTO-KEEPER.  101 

between  fear  and  shame.  "  Why — you  know  what  they  say 
— I  did  not  invent  it.  They  say  that  drowned  men  who  die 
in  their  sins  leave  their  spirits  in  the  waters  which  swallowed 
them ;  and  every  year,  at  the  day  and  hour  of  the  mishap, 
they  cry  out  in  agony  for  our  prayers." 

"And  you  believe  that,  do  you,  Lascar?"  said  Morvan 
with  a  laugh  which  had  more  noise  than  confidence  in  it. 

"  It's  not  I,"  replied  the  sailor,  "  it's  my  mates.  But  still, 
the  voice  was  not  like  any  other — it  was  sharp  and  shrill,  like 
a  child's,  as  you  might  say." 

"  Come,  come,  what  nonsense !"  interrupted  the  first  sailor, 
evidently  disquieted  by  his  comrade's  explanation.  "You 
see  there's  nothing  to  be  heard  now — there's  nothing  but 
moonlight  on  the  sea,  and  it's  a  raw,  cold  night.  How 
lucky  we  have  both  kept  our  allowance  of  wine.  Let's  go 
and  drink  it :  it  will  hearten  you  up." 

The  two  sailors  went  off.  After  waiting  a  moment,  Mat- 
thew again  put  the  child  upon  his  shoulders,  charged  her  to 
be  silent  while  he  encouraged  her  once  more,  let  go  the  rope, 
and  endeavoured  to  regain  the  causeway ;  but  he  had  lost  his 
course,  and  could  only  find  deep  water.  He  was  obliged 
to  swim  with  his  precious  burden,  but  hoped  that  a  few 
strokes  would  brmg  him  back  to  the  reef:  ho  was  already 
beyond  it.  Fresh  attempts  were  not  more  successful;  and 
twenty  times  he  renewed  his  search,  to  come  always  on  the 
same  deep  water. 

Alarmed,  and  out  of  breath,  he  struck  out  at  random,  try- 
ing to  find  ground,  without  being  able  even  to  distinguish 
the  Isle  of  Graves  from  the  Isle  of  Treberon.  After  having 
turned  and  re-turned  for  a  long  time,  struggling  against  the 
water,  into  which  he  plunged  deeper  every  minute,  and  pass- 
ing again  and  again  from  despair  to  hope,  until  his  strength 
and  spirit  were  quite  worn  out,  he  felt  that  he  was  beaten  at 


102  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

last.  His  breathing  grew  painful,  and  a  mist  fell  upon  his 
eyes — everything  became  a  whirling  chaos  to  him,  and  his 
senses  were  failing  him.  Yet  another  instant,  and  Francine 
and  he  must  sink  beneath  the  billows !  The  pinnace,  which 
he  had  tried  to  avoid,  and  which  he  no  longer  distinguished, 
was  their  last  chance  for  life.  He  collected  his  remaining 
strength  to  utter  a  shout  for  help;  but  a  still  heavier  sea 
stifled  it  on  his  lips.  Half  dead,  and  no  longer  having  more 
feeling  than  the  instinct  of  self-preservation,  which  outlives 
the  will,  he  struggled  yet  a  moment,  thrown  from  wave  to 
wave,  and  then  felt  himself  going  down !  But  all  at  once  he 
stopped ;  his  feet  had  found  the  reef.  They  made  a  firm 
footing  on  it — ^he  righted  himself  again ;  and  the  water, 
which  was  blinding  him,  seemed  now  to  subside.  He  took 
breath,  looked  before  him,  and  perceived  at  about  a  hun- 
dred paces  oflf,  the  scarped  rock  of  the  Isle  of  Graves. 

A  few  minutes  sufficed  to  reach  it.  As  he  touched  the 
shore,  he  sank  down,  calling  Francine  in  a  faint  voice. 

The  tenified  child  could  only  answer  him  by  throwing  her- 
self into  his  arms,  in  which  he  clasped  her  for  a  long  time. 
His  first  thought  had  been  for  her — ^his  second  took  him  back 
to  Genevieve,  who  had  to  wait  till  he  came  back  to  know  that 
they  were  saved.  He  got  up,  still  tottering,  and,  taking  the 
little  girl  by  the  hand,  began  to  climb  the  scarped  ascent  lead- 
ing to  the  terrace. 

He  had  to  go  roxind  the  powder-magazine  in  order  to  avoid 
the  sentry  posted  at  the  comer  which  overlooked  the  great 
roadstead  ;  and  when  he  reached  the  ordnance-keeper's  door, 
he  knocked  gently,  for  fear  of  being  heard  by  those  outside. 
Fortunately  Dorot  slept  the  light  sleep  of  an  old  soldier ;  he 
awoke  at  the  first  tap,  and  appeared  at  the  window. 

*'  Open  the  door,"  said  Matthew  in  a  whisper. 

"Ropars  I"  cried  the  sergeant,  confounded. 


TUB  LAZARETTO -KEEPER.  103 

"  Not  SO  loud !  and  come  quick,"  replied  the  sailor ;  "  our 
life  depends  upon  it." 

Dorot  came  quickly  down,  drew  the  bolt,  and  brought 
them  in.  Matthew  stepped  inside  the  threshold,  with  the 
child  clinging  to  his  knees. 

"Heaven  help  us!  where  do  you  come  from,  Eopars?" 
asked  the  sergeant. 

"  You  see,"  replied  the  seaman ;  "  we  come  from  the  sea, 
which  we  have  crossed  to  get  here." 

Dorot  drew  back,  with  an  exclamation  of  surprise. 

"Is  it  possible?"  cried  he.  "In  God's  name,  what  has 
happened,  to  make  you  risk  your  life  in  this  way?" 

"  What  has  happened,"  replied  Matthew,  "  is,  that  Jean- 
nette  died  this  morning  of  the  fever  I " 

"What  do  you  tell  me?" 

"  What  you  asked  me,  Dorot ;  and  as  Genevieve  and  I 
would  save  the  other,  I  have  brought  her  to  you." 

"Heaven  reward  you  for  the  thought  I"  said  the  sergeant; 
"the  child  is  welcome  I" 

He  held  out  his  hand  to  Matthew ;  but  he  did  not  take 
it. 

"  Think  well  of  what  I  ask  of  you,"  resumed  he ;  "  per- 
haps the  child  may  bring  the  sickness  and  sorrow  to  you 
here." 

"  I  hope  not,"  replied  Dorot ;  "but  God's  will  be  done  1" 

"  Recollect,  too,"  persisted  the  quarter-master,  "  if  the 
thing  is  heard  of,  there  is  a  chance  of  your  being  punished  for 
having  broken  the  quarantine." 

"Then  man's  will  be  done!"  replied  the  sergeant  with 
simplicity, 

"  But  think  again" — 

"  I  will  think  of  nothing  more,  Eopars,"  interrupted  the 
keeper;    "you  have  said  enough,  and  too   much — no  more 


104  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

words ;  you  have  brought  me  the  little  one,  and  I  take 
her." 

He  stooped  down  to  Francine,  took  her  in  his  arms,  and 
carried  her  up  to  the  little  closet  which  Genevieve  had  formerly 
occupied  ;  he  himself  took  off  the  child's  wet  clothes,  and  laid 
her  in  Michael's  old  cradle. 

The  father,  who  had  followed  them,  remained  standing  at 
the  door  with  a  look  of  gratitude  too  deep  for  words.  Only 
when  Dorot  rejoined  him,  he  grasped  one  of  his  hands,  and 
held  it  silently  in  his  own.  The  other,  wishing  to  avoid  a 
burst  of  feeling,  began  to  speak  to  him  of  the  best  way  to  con- 
ceal the  little  girl's  change  of  home.  It  was  enough  if  no 
one  could  notice  her  having  gone  from  Treberon ;  as  for  her 
being  at  the  Isle  of  Graves,  that  would  awaken  no  suspicion, 
as  the  artillery  party  who  were  on  duty  at  the  powder-maga- 
zine, and  who  might  have  wondered  at  this  increase  in  the 
keeper's  family,  were  to  be  relieved  the  very  next  morning. 

Eopars  being  satisfied  on  this  point,  they  agreed  upon  sig- 
nals for  transmitting  the  news  of  each  islet  to  the  other.  By 
repeating  these  several  times  a  day,  they  would  at  least  spare 
all  the  pangs  of  uncertainty.  At  last,  when  all  was  settled, 
Matthew  went  to  the  window  and  looked  out. 

The  wind  had  freshened,  the  sky  showed  fewer  stare,  and  a 
thin  mist  began  to  creep  over  the  sea. 

"  It  is  time  to  go,"  said  he,  turning  to  the  sergeant ;  "  may 
God  repay  you  for  what  you  are  doing,  Dorot !  for  Genevieve 
and  I  must  remain  in  debt  to  you  for  ever !" 

"We'll  talk  of  that  presently,"  replied  the  keeper;  "the 
important  matter,  and  what  now  troubles  me,  is  how  you  are 
to  get  back." 

"  Never  fear,"  replied  Eopars ;  "  now  the  child  is  safe,  I 
shall  cross  the  channel  as  if  I  were  going  to  church.  The 
legs  are  firm  when  the  heart  does  not  tremble.     I  wish  I  were 


THE  LAZARETTO-KEEPER.  105 

abeady  on  the  other  side ;  I  have  delayed  here  too  long  for 
Genevieve,  who  is  waiting  for  me." 

"  Go,  then,  since  you  must,"  said  the  sergeant ;  "  but  for 
God's  sake,  Eopars,  be  cautious ;  and  don't  forget  that  you 
have  two  other  lives  to  take  care  of  as  well  as  your  own." 

"  I  will  do  all  that  a  man  can  do,"  replied  the  quarter-mas- 
ter ;  "  rest  assured,  cousin,  that  I  have  no  wish  to  die  to- 
night !  But  enough  talk,  time  goes,  and  I  must  not  wait  till 
the  tide  is  in. 

He  went  towards  Francine's  cradle  to  wish  her  good-bye  ; 
but  the  child,  tired  out  by  all  she  had  gone  through,  had  just 
fallen  asleep.  One  of  her  arms  was  doubled  under  her  head, 
and  lost  among  the  dishevelled  ringlets  of  her  golden  hair. 
The  other  lay  upon  her  breast,  and  clasped  a  little  relic  for- 
merly given  to  Genevieve  herself,  but  of  which  she,  with 
credulous  yet  motherly  self-sacrifice,  had  now  deprived  herself 
to  save  the  child.  Although  her  breathing  was  regular  and 
easy,  it  was  broken  at  intervals  by  sobs;  and  her  cheeks, 
which  were  beginning  to  recover  their  rosy  colour  in  her 
sleep,  still  bore  traces  of  tears. 

Matthew  looked  at  her  for  some  moments  with  silent  affec- 
tion ;  then  he  slowly  stooped  and  lightly  kissed  Francine's 
little  hand,  then  her  head,  and  then  her  cheek.  The  child, 
without  opening  her  eyes,  moved  restlessly ;  he  drew  back, 
and  said,  in  a  whisper — 

"  Yes,  yes,  sleep  on,  God's  little  lamb ! — I  will  not  wake 
you." 

He  seemed  again  to  fold  her  to  himself  in  a  look  overflow- 
ing with  love  ;  then  he  turned  to  Dorot,  and  took  his  hand. 

"I  leave  her  with  you,  cousin,"  said  he,  much  moved; 
"  nobody  knows  what  may  happen,  only  I  rely  upon  your 
kind  heart ;  and  if  ever  the  child  becomes  an  orphan" — 

"  God  keep  her  from  that ! "  said  the  sergeant ;  "  but  if 


106  BBITTANY  AND  LA  VENDjSe. 

BTich  a  calamity  should  come  upon  her,  Matthew,  be  sure  that 
she  will  then  be  Michael's  sister  I " 

"  Thank  you  1 "  hurriedly  interrupted  the  seaman ;  "  that 
is  just  what  I  wanted  to  hear.  Now  I  go  at  ease,  and  pre- 
pared for  everything." 

"  But  you  will  not  go  as  you  are,  all  shivering  and  tired  ?" 
said  the  sergeant.  "  You  must  take  something  to  strengthen 
you." 

"  No,  nothing !"  interrupted  Kopars ;  "  you  have  given  me 
all  the  strength  I  need,  by  assuring  me  that  the  child  shall 
not  be  left  without  help.  Providence  will  do  the  rest.  Give 
me  your  hand,  and  good-bye  till  we  meet  again,  here  or  else- 
where I" 

They  embraced  affectionately ;  then  Matthew  went  down  to 
the  shore,  and  again  plunged  into  the  sea.  Although  the 
tide  was  beginning  to  rise,  the  passage  back  was  accomplished 
without  much  danger.  He  safely  reached  the  great  rock  of 
Treberon  just  as  the  sea  was  covering  it,  and  ran  to  the  place 
where  he  had  left  Genevieve.     She  was  no  longer  there. 

Surprised  to  find  she  had  not  waited  for  his  return,  he 
hastened  up  the  path,  reached  his  door,  which  he  found  open, 
and  called  her.  Nobody  answered.  The  darkness  prevented 
him  from  distinguishing  anything.  He  groped  his  way  to 
the  fireplace,  and  hastily  lighting  a  lamp,  looked  about  him 
by  aid  of  its  flickering  rays.  As  these  fell  upon  the  bed  in  the 
recess,  his  eye  discerned  close  by  the  white  figure  of  the  dead 
laid  in  its  shroud,  another  darker  figure  stretched  motionless. 
Matthew  drew  near  in  terror.     It  was  Genevieve  in  a  swoon. 


THE  LAZARETTO-KEEPEK.  107 


CHAPTEE  IV. 


THE  HUSBAND  S  RETURN. 


Thanks  to  the  doctor's  care,  Ropars'  wife  at  last  recovered 
her  senses  ;  but  it  was  only  to  fall  into  convulsions,  which  were 
followed  by  the  complete  prostration  of  all  her  faculties.  The 
whole  day  passed  without  her  waking  from  this  lethargy, 
which  appeared  half  sleep  and  half  death.  It  seemed  as  if  so 
many  shocks  had  shattered  her  existence,  and  the  vitality 
which  still  lingered  in  her  languid  frame  appeared  but  as 
the  last  movements  of  a  machine  about  to  stop.  However, 
towards  evening,  the  fever  appeared  ;  the  sick  woman  gra- 
dually passed  from  her  torpor  into  a  delirious  excitement; 
she  recognised  Matthew  only  at  intei-vals,  and,  as  her  grief 
returned  with  her  senses,  she  again  relapsed  into  wandering. 

None  of  these  symptoms  seemed  to  belong  to  the  disease 
which  was  ravaging  the  lazaretto,  and  the  baffled  doctor 
showed  his  inability  to  understand  them.  Accustomed  to  the 
rough  practice  demanded  for  the  robust  frames  of  our  sailors 
when  sick,  he  was,  like  the  generality  of  his  class,  necessarily 
unacquainted  with  the  sufferings  of  more  delicate  constitutions. 
He  was,  therefore,  utterly  perplexed  by  the  case  of  this  woman 
dying  of  a  complaint  of  which  he  in  vain  taxed  his  memory 
for  some  precedent.  He  could  not  conceal  his  embarrass- 
ment, and  the  need  of  more  experienced  advice.     One  to 


108  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

whose  science  these  mysterious  and  formidable  symptoms 
were  familiar,  might  find  a  clue  "where  he  perceived  only  con- 
fusion ;  and  might  point  out  a  remedy  which  he  dared  but 
merely  guess  at. 

This  candid  though  painful  confession  inflicted  a  new  tor- 
ture upon  Matthew.  Enclosed  within  the  sanitary  line  which 
forbade  the  approach  of  strangers  to  Treberon,  he  was  unable 
to  send  for  advice  which  might  perhaps  save  Genevieve's  life ; 
in  vain  he  saw  at  his  feet  boats  for  crossing  the  sea,  and,  in 
the  distance,  the  town  from  which  help  might  be  procured : 
an  invisible  but  insurmountable  obstacle  chained  him  to  his 
imhappy  lot. 

Two  days  were  spent  like  a  long  death-struggle,  in  alterna- 
tions of  speechless  dejection  and  wild  despair.  After  passing 
whole  hours  by  the  bedside  of  his  dying  wife,  when  he  saw 
the  disease,  after  a  momentary  lull,  wake  up  with  greater  vio- 
lence, he  would  rush  to  the  edge  of  the  reefs,  look  at  the 
waves  in  the  midst  of  which  he  was  kept  a  prisoner,  at  the 
armed  bark  which  guarded  the  channel,  at  the  ravines  of  the 
isle  dotted  with  new-made  graves,  and,  pressing  his  clenched 
fists  against  his  forehead,  he  would  curse  the  day  on  which  he 
had  accepted  this  voluntaiy  imprisonment ;  he  would  angrily 
call  God  to  account  for  the  blows  which  were  falling  upon 
him ;  and  then,  returning  to  his  pious  trust,  he  would  clasp 
his  hands  and  pray  to  Him  with  tears  to  spare  the  life  of 
Genevieve. 

Towards  the  morning  of  the  third  day,  there  seemed  a  hope 
that  his  prayer  had  been  heard.  The  fever  abated,  and  the 
patient  recovered  all  her  clearness  of  mind  ;  but  this  change 
did  not  make  her  share  in  the  happiness  or  in  the  hopes  of 
Matthew. 

"  Do  not  think  that  this  is  recovery,  dear  husband,"  said 
she,  in  a  voice  that  could  scarcely  be  heard,   and  pausing 


THE  LAZARETTO-KEEPER.  109 

at  each  sentence  ;  "  the  disease  is  going,  but  life  will  go  with 
it.  That  evening  you  crossed  the  channel,  when  I  heard  the 
child's  scream  from  the  sea,  I  thought  it  was  all  over  with 
both  of  you,  and  then — I  cannot  say  what  happened,  but  it 
seemed  to  me  that  something  within  me — the  great  spring  of 
life  broke  !     So  now  I  feel  that  all  is  ended !" 

Ropars  opposed  her  fears  by  repeating  that  the  doctor  had 
now  hopes  again,  and  that  all  would  be  well.  The  sick  wo- 
man, wliose  eyes  were  closed,  half  opened  them  with  difficulty, 
and  looked  at  him  with  an  expression  full  of  affection. 

"  We  are  in  God's  hands,  Matthew,"  said  she  ;  "  He  knows 
whether  I  am  not  willing  to  remain  with  you.  But  indeed, 
my  poor  husband,  you  must  not  hope  too  much.  The  wisest 
way  is  to  think  the  worst." 

"  The  wisest  way,"  interrupted  the  seaman,  "  is  to  keep 
quiet,  and  to  have  trust.  I  too  think  according  to  my  feel- 
ings. This  very  night  I  had  a  weight  like  lead  upon  my 
heart ;  now  it  is  light  again,  and  I  can  breathe  freely.  In 
God's  name,  let  your  health  come  back,  and  try  and  wish  to 
live,  if  it  is  only  for  my  sake  1" 

Genevieve  made  an  effort  to  bring  her  cold  damp  hand  to 
that  of  Eopars. 

"You  are  very  good,  Matthew,"  said  she,  letting  fall  two, 
tears,  the  last  which  could  be  drawn  from  those  eyes  drained 
dry  with  weeping.  "  Ah !  my  greatest  grief  now  is  that  I 
have  not  always  thought  of  this,  nor  shown  myself  grateful 
enough.  Oh  1  how  much  better  we  should  be  to  those  we 
love,  if  we  remembered  that  we  must  one  day  leave  them  I 
Ever  since  I  recovered  my  senses,  this  thought  has  haunted 
me  ;  I  feel  all  my  faults,  and  the  remorse  they  bring.  Oh  ! 
tell  me,  Matthew,  I  entreat  you,  do  you  forgive  me  now  for 
not  having  always  been  what  I  should  have  been  ?" 

"  Do  not  talk  so,  Genevieve,"  interrupted  the  seaman,  much 


110  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

moved  ;  "  you  know  well  I  conld  not  have  asked  Gk)d  for  a 
better  wife  ;  since  I  have  had  you,  I  have  wanted  nothing — 
and  I  owe  you  many  thanks." 

"  No,  no,"  resumed  the  sick  woman,  rousing  herself; 
"  many,  many  times  have  I  been  wanting  in  courage  and  in 
patience  ;  not  with  you  alone,  but  with  Francine,  with  Jean- 
nette — Jeannette !  darling  of  my  heart,  who  had  so  fevy  years 
to  live !  And  to  think,  Matthew,  how  often  I  have  made  her 
cry — she  who  is  now  in  her  grave  !  Ah  !  it  is  the  tears  of 
the  dead  which  weigh  heaviest  of  all.  And  the  other  people 
that  I  have  offended — and  God,  against  whom  I  have  sinned  I 
Shall  I  not,  then,  seek  forgiveness?" 

Then,  as  if  this  thought  had  awakened  a  kind  of  terror  in 
her,  she  raised  herself  and  added — 

"Ah!  it  is  in  vain.  Matthew,  Matthew,  I  would  see  a 
priest!" 

"How  can  we  bring  him  here?"  said  the  seaman  sorrow- 
fully ;  "  have  you  forgotten  that  the  island  is  in  quarantine  ?" 

"What!  not  able  even  to  procure  our  soul's  salvation?" 
resumed  Genevieve,  clasping  her  hands.  "  Oh !  am  I  then 
condemned  to  die  without  being  reconciled  to  God  ?  What 
am  I  to  do  ?  The  worst  sinner  may  confess  his  faults  and  ask 
absolution.     0  my  God  I  must  I  alone  be  left  without  help  ?" 

She  stopped  suddenly,  and  raised  her  two  hands  to  her  fore- 
head. 

"Ah  !  now  I  remember,"  resumed  she,  "  have  you  not  told 
me  that  in  your  ships,  when  there  was  no  priest  in  the  hour 
of  death,  any  Christian  man  might  supply  his  place  ? — that 
God  had  regard  to  the  intention?" 

"I  did  tell  you  so,"  replied  Eopars;  "  and  all  the  sailors 
in  the  country  will  say  the  same,  on  the  word  of  their  own 
clergyman." 

"  Then,"  resumed  the  dying  woman,  turning  her  fevered 


THE  "lazaretto-keeper  .  Ill 

eye  towards  the  sailor,  "  come  and  help  me.  Listen,  I  will 
confess  myself  to  you  I " 

She  raised  herself  on  her  elbow,  and  made  the  sign  of  the 
cross.  Matthew  seemed  startled,  hut  could  not  make  any 
objection.  He  belonged,  as  we  have  said,  to  that  race  now 
almost  extinct  even  in  Brittany,  among  whom  the  strong  and 
simple  faith  of  another  age  still  survives.  Many  times  in  a 
shipwreck  have  such  as  he  been  seen,  after  exhausting  every 
means  of  saving  themselves,  kneeling  down  to  wait  for  death, 
and  confessing  themselves  to  one  another,  like  the  old  knights 
before  battle.  He  was,  therefore,  more  disturbed  than  sur- 
prised at  Genevieve's  request ;  and  when  he  heard  her  mur- 
mur the  prayer  which  precedes  the  confession  of  sins,  he  too 
uncovered  his  head  and  crossed  himself,  in  order  to  fulfil  the 
holy  office  necessity  had  intrusted  to  him. 

It  was  a  mournful  and  touching  scene.  The  first  glim- 
mering rays  of  morning  threw  an  uncertain  light  upon  the 
bed  ;  Genevieve's  dishevelled  head  was  bent  towards  the  gray 
head  of  Matthew ;  the  low  whisper  of  that  last  holy  confi- 
dence was  heard  proceeding — often  interrupted  by  the  ex- 
haustion of  the  dying  woman,  or  by  the  sailor's  entreaties 
that  she  would  shorten  it — and  as  often  resumed,  with  the 
strong  persistence  of  those  who,  with  severely  self-judging 
consciences,  think  they  can  never  accuse  themselves  enough. 

At  last,  when  she  had  finished,  Eopars  took  down  the  ivory 
crucifix  from  the  head  of  the  bed,  put  it  to  the  lips  of  Gene- 
vieve, and  laying  his  hand  upon  her  forehead  he  said  with 
mournful  earnestness — 

"  May  God  pardon  you,  as  I  do  as  well  as  I  am  able  ;  and 
if  it  is  not  His  will  that  you  should  live  for  my  happiness,  may 
He  find  a  place  for  you  with  Him  in  paradise." 

An  expression  of  unspeakable  calm  came  over  the  face  of 
the  dying  woman. 


112  BRITTANY  AND  LA.  VENDUE. 

"  Thank  you,"  murmured  she,  "  your  absolution  will  prevail 
before  the  Holy  Trinity,  Matthew  :  now,  I  am  in  peace." 

A  sunbeam  which  was  shining  through  the  window  curtains, 
reached  her  bed ;  she  turned  towards  it. 

"  The  day  is  come,"  continued  she ;  "  I  never  hoped  to  see 
it  again.  God  has  given  me  a  respite.  He  has  consented  to 
grant  me  the  last  happiness  which  I  wished  for  on  earth.  You 
will  not  refuse  it  me  either,  my  Matthew." 

"  Speak,  Genevieve,"  said  the  seaman ;  "  I  will  do  all  that 
a  man  can  do." 

She  took  his  hand  and  looked  at  him. 

"  Did  you  not  tell  me  that  our  cousin  could  see,  and  under- 
stand your  signals  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  did." 

"  Then,  as  you  love  me,  Matthew,  I  beg  you  to  give  him 
notice  directly,  to  bring  Francine  out  upon  his  battery ;  when 
she  is  there,  you  must  take  me  in  your  arms,  and  carry  me  as 
far  as  the  great  rock,  and,  if  God  permits,  I  shall  reach  it 
with  life  enough  to  see  my  child,  and  take  her  to  my  heart 
once  more." 

"  It  shall  be  as  you  wish,  Genevieve,"  said  the  seaman, 
who,  overcome  by  the  dying  woman's  forebodings,  had  given 
up  hope,  and  had  no  longer  the  power  to  refuse  her  anything. 

"  Quick,  then,  very  quick  ! "  stammered  she,  "  for  I  feel 
that  God  is  calling  me." 

The  quarter-master  rushed  out,  as  if  he  feared  he  should 
not  be  in  time ;  he  came  back  almost  immediately,  and  said 
that  Francine  was  on  the  battery  of  the  powder-magazine  with 
Dorot.  The  dying  woman  uttered  a  feeble  cry  of  joy,  and 
stretched  out  her  hands  to  her  husband.  He  wrapped  her  in 
his  winter  cloak,  and  carried  her  gently  in  his  arms  up  to 
the  battery-parapet. 

"  Where  is  she  ?  "  asked  the  sick  woman,  whose  eyes  were 


THE  LAZARETTO-KEEPER.  113 

dazzled  by  the  day-light,  as  she  tried  in  vain  to  see ;  "  I 
distinguish  nothing,  Matthew — where  is  the  child  ?  Show  me 
my  child ! " 

*'  Look  down  there,"  replied  the  seaman ;  "  do  you  see  the 
great  rock  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  And  can  you  follow  the  ripple  of  the  sea  along  the  bar  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes  !  " 

"  And  down  there  still  further,  over  the  reefs,  do  you 
distinguish  the  battery  walls  ?  " 

"  Down  there  ?  No  !  it  is  all  a  mist — I  see  nothing  I  Oh, 
if  it  were  too  late  I  if  I  had  her  under  my  eyes,  and  yet  could 
not  see  her  more  !  0  my  God,  my  God !  only  once,  once 
more,  let  me  see  my  child  ! " 

These  words,  or  rather  exclamations  of  maternal  love,  were 
so  woful,  that  Eopars  could  not  conceal  his  tears.  He  placed 
the  dying  woman  upon  the  parapet,  and  knelt  by  her  to 
support  her. 

"  Courage,  Genevieve,"  stammered  he  ;  "  look  well  on  this 
side — between  the  sky  and  the  sea." 

"  I  am  looking,"  said  the  dying  woman,  who  seemed  to 
gather  all  her  remaining  life  together  into  this  effort.  "  Lift 
up  my  head,  Matthew.     Shade  the  sun  from  me  " — 

She  interrupted  herself  by  a  stifled  exclamation. 

*'  Ah,  there  she  is  !  there  she  is  I  She  sees  me !  she  holds 
out  her  arms  I     Francine  !  my  child  !  " 

She  bent  forward  with  such  a  sudden  impulse,  that  but  for 
Ropars  she  would  have  fallen  over  the  rocks  which  went 
down  to  the  sea.  A  passing  ray  of  life  lit  up  her  features ; 
she  sent  her  kisses  to  her  child,  speaking  to  her  as  if  she  could 
hear  her  ;  she  raised  her  clasped  hands  to  heaven,  with  rapid 
and  broken  prayers  ;  she  smiled  and  wept  at  once.  At  last, 
the  strength  for  such  utterance  of  her  feelings  failed  her,  and 


114  BRITTAKY  AND  LA  VENDING. 

her  head  fell  hack  upon  the  quarter-master's  shoulder,  who, 
frightened,  took  her  again  in  his  arms  to  carry  her  back  to 
the  house ;  but  she  made  a  sign  to  him,  that  she  wished  to 
stay  in  the  open  air.  He  placed  her  on  the  bench  where  the 
family  were  wont  to  meet  every  evening,  in  front  of  the  sea, 
now  lighted  by  the  rising  sun. 

After  a  long  fainting  fit,  she  again  opened  her  eyes  and 
asked  for  her  daughter.  Matthew  looked  towards  the  powder- 
magazine,  and  told  her  Dorot  had  taken  her  away.  She  bowed 
her  head  sadly,  but  in  resignation. 

"  He  has  done  right,"  said  she  in  a  weaker  tone  ;  "  I  feel, 
besides,  that  my  sight  is  confused — I  can  no  longer  distinguish, 
and  I  have  still  something  more  to  say  to  you.  Come  near, 
Matthew — nearer,  my  voice  is  going ;  give  me  your  hand,  I 
must  be  sure  you  hear  me." 

Eopars  knelt  down  on  the  sand,  with  one  of  his  hands  in 
those  of  the  dying  woman,  and  with  the  other  passed  round 
her  to  support  her. 

"  You  will  be  left  alone,"  continued  she ;  "  you  might 
perhaps  bear  this  elsewhere ;  but  here,  in  the  middle  of  the 
sea,  it  is  not  a  life  for  a  man,  nor  a  Christian.  You  are  used 
to  have  some  one  to  keep  you  company,  to  love  you.  When 
I  am  no  more,  another  must  fill  my  place." 

"  Never  !  "  interrupted  Eopars. 

She  motioned  him  with  her  hand  to  be  silent. 

"  Hush,"  said  she  gently ;  "  it  is  right  you  should  think  so 
as  long  as  I  am  with  you,  but,  when  they  have  laid  me  in 
my  coffin,  you  will  feel  your  need.  Do  not  think  I  reproach 
you  for  it,  my  poor  husband — I  would  not  carry  away  your 
happiness  with  me  in  my  winding-sheet.  No,  no  !  wherever 
I  am,  I  shall  always  wish  to  be  sure  that  you  are  in  want 
of  nothing." 


THE  LAZARETTO-KEEPER.  115 

"  Enough,  Genevieve  !  "  murmured  the  seaman,  his  voice 
broken  by  emotion. 

"  Let  me  finish,"  resumed  she  ;  "  I  have  still  something  to 
ask  you.  When  you  take  the  crape  from  your  arm,  Matthew, 
promise  me  to  think  of  the  darling  creature  who  is  child  to 
us  both,  and  who  will  remain  with  you,  as  a  remembrance  of 
me.     Look  for  a  wife  who  will  supply  my  place  to  her." 

"  What  are  you  asking  me,  and  whom  could  I  give  her  for 
a  mother  after  you  ?  "  cried  Kopars. 

"  Some  one  who  will  not  grudge  my  havuig  been  chosen 
first,"  replied  Genevieve ;  "  an  honest  heart  willing  to  take 
kindly  to  an  orphan,  to  talk  to  her  of  me,  to  teach  her  to  love 
God,  and  to  obey  you.  If  you  promise  me  she  shall  be  this, 
Matthew — if  you  promise  it  on  your  honour,  and  on  your 
hope  of  salvation,  I  shall  sleep  in  peace,  and  blessing  you." 

Kopars  promised  through  his  sobs ;  and  this  was  the  last 
effort  of  the  dying  woman.  After  thanking  him  by  a  pressure 
of  his  hand,  she  sank  back  into  the  seaman's  arms.  It  seemed 
as  if  by  strength  of  will,  she  had  stayed  the  approach  of  death 
till  she  had  thus  opened  her  heart  for  the  last  time  ;  hardly 
had  she  done,  when  the  death-struggle  began.  She  was 
carried  back  to  her  bed,  where  she  died  towards  the  close  of 
day.  Her  last  words  were  a  prayer,  in  which  the  names  of 
her  husband  and  child  were  heard. 

The  next  day,  the  grave  where  the  remains  of  Jeannette 
already  rested  was  opened  again  to  receive  her ;  for  during 
the  last  month  death  had  cut  down  so  many,  that  the  rocky 
isle  lacked  space  for  his  dismal  harvest.  The  ordnance-keeper, 
who  had  been  apprised  of  what  had  happened  by  the  signals 
agreed  upon,  brought  Francine  to  the  edge  of  his  rock,  and 
the  child  on  her  knees  prayed  for  her  mother,  while  the  burial 
service  was  proceeding  on  the  other  side  of  the  water. 


116  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

This  was  the  last  death.  Like  those  expiatory  victims, 
who,  by  sacrificing  themselves,  appeased  the  wrath  of  the  gods, 
Genevieve,  when  descending  into  the  tomb,  seemed  to  close  it 
behind  her.  A  fortnight  afterwards,  the  yellow  flag  no  longer 
floated  from  the  lazaretto  flagstaff;  and  the  recovered  quar- 
antiners  departed  in  the  frigate's  barge,  leaving  on  the  de- 
serted isle  only  a  man  with  whitened  hair,  and  a  child  dressed 
ia  mourning. 


THE   KOURIGAK 


Le  Sillon — ^the  ridge — is  the  name  given  to  that  long- 
extended  narrow  elevation  which  separates  the  portion  of  land 
between  the  mouths  of  the  Loire  and  Vilaine  from  the  re- 
mainder of  Brittany.  The  road  from  Nantes  to  Vannes  runs 
along  the  summit  of  this  natural  rampart.  To  the  right  lies 
the  French  Brittany,  which  always  gives  me  the  idea  of  a 
well-worn  coin,  so  uniform  is  the  character  of  its  landscape 
scenery,  totally  devoid  as  it  is  of  one  prominent  feature.  On 
the  other  side,  stretches  out  a  different  view,  which,  for  pecu- 
liarity of  outline  and  well-defined  lineament — or,  to  carry  out 
our  former  simile,  having  better  maintained  the  freshness  of 
its  impress — is  the  most  striking  country  to  be  seen  at  the 
present  day.  Nor  is  the  contrast  here  confined  to  inanimate 
nature — the  inhabitants  being  as  diverse  as  the  land  of  their 
birth.  To  the  right,  we  meet  a  small  short  race,  with  dark 
hair  and  colourless  faces,  whose  expression  chiefly  betokens 
listless  apathy  ;  while  to  the  left,  we  behold  tall,  graceful 
forms,  blooming  complexions,  animated  countenances.  On 
the  right  a  Celtic,  ort  the  left  a  German  race. 

So  far  back  as  the  fifteenth  century  a  party  of  Saxon  navi- 


118  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VEND]fiE. 

gators  settled  on  these  shores.  They  have  increased  much  in 
number  since  then  ;  but  have  not  mingled  with  the  natives  of 
the  surrounding  country,  so  that  their  descendants  at  the  pre- 
sent time  form  almost  exclusively  the  community  which  in- 
habits the  territory  known  by  the  name  of  La  Bruyere.  These 
people  seem  to  have  inherited  the  roving  disposition  of  their 
ancestors.  After  having  gathered  in  their  summer  harvest, 
they  enter  their  futreaux — large  boats  of  a  peculiar  shape — • 
which  they  freight  with  turf,  and  convey  to  Nantes,  Eochelle. 
Bordeaux,  &c.  Or  they  lade  their  mules  with  salt,  and  carry 
ing  it  to  the  western  provinces,  receive  in  exchange  sugar, 
coffee,  and  other  articles  which  minister  to  the  necessaries  or 
the  luxuries  of  life,  and  which  are  either  disposed  of  during 
the  journey  back,  or  else  deposited  in  their  homes. 

To  one  of  these  caravans  I  joined  myself,  in  order  to  ac- 
complish a  long-cherished  plan  of  becoming  acquainted  with 
this  part  of  the  coast  of  Brittany.  I  proceeded  along  the 
Sillon  seated  upon  one  of  twelve  mules  which  were  under  the 
guidance  of  Pierre  Louis,  commonly  called  "the  grenadier  ;" 
a  well-known  salt-dealer,  who  was  now  on  his  homeward  jour- 
ney from  Eochelle  to  the  small  seaport  of  SaUle.  Pierre 
Louis  was  a  tall,  commanding-looking  fellow,  with  a  frank 
expression,  an  independent  bearing,  and  a  cheerful  heart — who 
always  let  his  eyes  rest  upon  the  sunbeams  which  fell  across 
his  path,  thankfully  received  and  enjoyed  each  day  as  many 
blessings  as  the  day  might  bring,  patiently  bore  the  mis- 
fortunes that  he  could  not  avoid,  and  rested  peacefully  at 
night,  without  any  anxiety  for  the  wants  of  the  morrow. 

Of  the  twelve  mules  which  formed  the  cavalcade,  only  two 
belonged  to  himself;  the  remaining  number,  as  well  as  the 
loads  of  salt  with  which  he  had  set  out  six  weeks  before, 
were  the  property  of  neighbours,  with  whom  he  had  to  make 
up  accounts.     His  journey  this  time  was  unfortunate— chiefly 


THE  KOURIGAN.  H9 

to  himself.  One  of  his  beasts  died — the  other  fell  lame,  so 
that  he  was  obliged  to  sell  it,  to  use  his  own  expression,  "  for 
less  than  the  worth  of  its  hide  and  its  hoofs." 

He  was  returning  home,  if  not  a  ruined  man,  at  least  not 
far  from  it ;  but  he  did  not  allow  himself  to  become  a  prey  to 
despondency.  Cheerfully  he  walked  along  by  the  side  of  the 
cavalcade,  dressed  in  his  waggoner's  smock — always  fresh  and 
clean — white  linen  leggins,  which  came  above  the  knee,  a 
broad-brimmed  hat,  placed  sideways  on  his  head,  his  whip 
fastened  across  his  back — while  his  fingers  were  busily  em- 
ployed in  paring  willow-twigs,  and  converting  them  into  all 
sorts  of  ingenious  devices,  which  were  presented  to  the  chil- 
dren whom  he  met  upon  the  road. 

But  whatever  else  Pierre  Louis  was  about,  he  was  generally 
heard  whistling,  whether  he  walked  or  stood  still — in  fact,  at 
all  times  and  at  every  employment,  except  when  taking  his 
food,  or  when  engaged  in  prayer.  With  true  musical  talent, 
he  would  whistle  the  most  difScult  tunes,  national  melodies, 
bacchanalian  and  political  songs,  sacred  music,  opera  airs — 
every  style,  in  short.  But  what  I  liked  best  to  hear  were  his 
voluntaries,  in  which,  for  hours  together,  he  delighted  to 
give  full  play  to  his  genius,  without  ever  growing  weary. 

When  he  did  happen  to  be  silent,  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  all 
sounds  were  hushed,  as  though  even  the  mule-bells  had  ceased 
their  tinkling — something  was  wanting ;  I  felt  uncomfortable 
and  dissatisfied.  But  this  only  happened  when  anything 
peculiarly  painful  weighed  upon  his  mind,  which  was  of  rare 
occurrence.  And  even  at  such  times,  his  melodious  notes 
would  only  cease  for  fifteen  minutes  or  so,  when  one  or  other 
of  the  animals,  unable  to  proceed  from  weariness,  probably  re- 
called to  his  mind  his  recent  losses. 

During  such  pauses,  I  was  wont  to  converse  with  his  wife, 
who,  as  is  the  custom  of  these  people,  accompanied  her  hus- 


120  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDl^E. 

band  on  his  journey.  This  was  the  first  that  they  had  under- 
taken together,  not  having  been  very  long  married.  She  had 
weaned  her  infant  shortly  before  setting  out,  and  was  obliged 
to  leave  it  behind ;  and  now  her  whole  thoughts  seemed  to 
centre  in  her  home,  in  the  direction  of  which  she  gazed  so 
eagerly,  that  one  would  have  imagined  that  her  dark  and 
penetrating  eyes  expected  every  moment  to  discover  the  figure 
of  her  child  in  the  farthest  point  of  the  horizon  before  us. 
Jeanne  was  a  very  beautiful  creature — it  would  be  hard  in- 
deed to  find  a  handsomer  pair  than  she  and  Pierre  Louis. 
And  yet  her  whole  deportment  betokened  something  more  in- 
tellectual, more  retiring,  more  noble  than  his ;  and  the  look  of 
intense  anxiety  to  be  with  her  child  heightened  the  interest  of 
her  appearance,  by  throwing  over  the  usually  beaming  expres- 
sion which  lighted  up  her  regular  features  a  shade  of  dignified 
sadness,  almost  of  pain. 

One  day,  Pierre  Louis  having  indulged  for  a  while  in  a 
gloomy  fit  of  silence,  seemed  suddenly  to  be  aroused  from  it 
by  something  terrifying ;  then,  taking  a  few  rapid  strides  in 
advance  of  us,  he  glanced  fearfully  round  him,  and  began  to 
whistle.  On  our  reaching  him,  he  drew  my  attention  to  two 
windmills,  the  sails  of  which  were  going  briskly  round,  while 
several  mills  in  the  neighbourhood  seemed,  like  ourselves,  to 
be  forsaken  by  every  breath  of  wind.  I  endeavoured,  in  vari- 
ous ways,  both  by  the  formation  of  the  ground  and  their  own 
position,  to  explain  this  monopoly  of  the  wind,  but  it  so  hap- 
pened that  I  could  discover  no  cause  by  which  to  account  for 
it.  Consequently  I  had  little  to  urge  in  reply  when  "  the 
grenadier"  briefly  explained  the  matter  as  being  an  unearthly 
power  conferred  by  the  Virgin,  which  could  only  be  interrupt- 
ed by  the  influence  of  the  "  black  Kourigan."* 

*  The  Kourigan  of  Brittany  is  evidently  the  same  demoniacal  being  who  is  called  in 
Ireland  "  Cluricane,"  an  account  of  whom  is  given  in  Grimm's  Jrith  Fairy  Tales,  and 
also  In  Sketchet  of  Ireland,  published  at  Berlin  in  1851. 


THE  KOURIGAN.  121 

From  the  further  information  that  he  gave  me  respecting 
this  mysterious  being — to  whom  he  also  applied  the  epithet  of 
the  "  black  dwarf,"  and  whom  Jeanne  denominated  "  the  elder 
brother  of  death" — I  learned  that  his  chief  pleasure  consists 
in  acquainting  mortals,  by  his  appearance,  of  some  impending 
calamity,  without  at  the  same  time  showing  them  any  means 
of  averting  it.  Jeanne  related  to  me,  in  an  under  tone,  how 
she  had  seen  the  Kourigan  when  they  were  setting  out  on 
their  journey  ;  and  how,  after  sneaking  at  the  other  side  of  the 
hedge,  quite  close  to  them,  for  a  long  time,  he  had  sprung  across 
the  road  and  disappeared,  with  a  strange  cry,  which  sounded 
first  like  a  scornful  laugh,  but  died  away  in  a  piteous  wail. 
"  It  is  no  wonder,  then,"  she  added,  "  that  our  journey  has  been 
so  unfortunate  ;  but  Pierre  Louis" — she  suddenly  cut  short 
her  sentence,  and  trembled,  as  he  turned  round  quickly  and 
cast  a  melancholy  glance  at  her.  However,  he  soon  began  to 
whistle,  and  then  Jeanne  looked  again  cheerfully  into  the  far 
distance. 

We  turned  off  the  Sillon  opposite  Savenai,  entering  la 
grande  Bruyire — the  great  moor — ^where  Pierre  had  some 
business  to  transact  with  a  relation  of  his  wife,  who  not  only 
filled  the  office  of  godfather  to  her,  but  had  taken  entire  charge 
of  her  from  the  death  of  her  parents,  which  occurred  when 
she  was  very  young. 

The  country  through  which  we  passed  soon  assumed  the 
appearance  of  parched  sand ;  but  there  rose  here  and  there, 
from  out  of  the  bleak  desert  plain,  little  hillocks  clothed  with 
the  richest  verdure,  that  looked  like  baskets  of  flowers,  or  like 
emerald  isles,  though  without  the  surrounding  water.  They 
were  for  the  most  part  connected  with  each  other  by  an  irregu- 
lar natural  causeway.  Shaded  by  lofty  elm-trees,  and  partly 
hidden  by  shrubs  and  weeds,  peeped  out  little  cottages,  their 
roofs  so  covered  with  moss  and  grass,  house- leek,  and  other 


122  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VEND:^E. 

herbs,  both  variegated  and  of  a  brilliant  green,  that  one  could 
scarcely  conceive  them  to  be  the  workmanship  and  the  dwell- 
ing of  man.  Flocks  of  sheep,  with  long  purplish  wool,  pas- 
tured on  the  border  of  these  oases ;  and  our  approach  startled 
a  number  of  plovers  or  lapwings  which  flew  rapidly  round 
their  island,  uttering  a  strange  wild  ciy,  as  though  sounding 
an  alarm  to  the  inhabitants.  The  path  led  us  along  the  verge 
of  the  largest  of  these  oases — scarcely  had  we  passed  it,  when 
the  great  moor,  properly  so  called,  spread  out  before  our  view. 
There  it  lay,  a  vast  imdulating  plain,  completely  bare,  its  red 
soil  interspersed  here  and  there  with  tufts  of  sickly  stunted  reeds, 
and  emitting  an  offensive  exhalation,  which  rested  midway  in 
the  air,  like  red  waves  which  had  been  expelled  from  the 
bosom  of  the  earth  to  add  to  the  uniform  colour  of  the  scene 
above ;  not  a  breath  of  air  was  to  be  felt  on  the  heights,  nor 
a  shadow  to  be  seen  in  the  valleys.  The  ground,  which  was 
like  red  ashes,  admitted  of  no  firm  footing  ;  and  occasionally 
a  pond  of  dark  stagnant  water  was  to  be  seen,  without  even  a 
blade  of  grass  Tipon  its  margin. 

From  time  to  time,  we  passed  people  cutting  turf;  their 
long  hair  falling  over  their  shoulders,  and  their  forms  smeared 
and  darkened  with  the  dull  red  dust  and  smoke,  proclaimed 
them  to  be  the  true  natives  of  this  dismal  country.  Our 
paiiy  afforded  a  lively  contrast  to  the  scene  around;  the 
heads  of  the  mules  being  decked  with  various  colours,  and 
armed  with  green  boughs  to  protect  them  from  flies :  on  the 
finest  of  these  animals  was  seated  the  lovely  Jeanne  ;  while 
walking  and  whistling  vigorously  behind  her  was  to  be  seen 
the  handsome  form  of  "  the  grenadier,"  having  an  accompani- 
ment to  his  music  in  the  merry  tinkling  of  the  mule-bells.  I 
drew  Jeanne's  attention  to  what  had  struck  me  so  forcibly,  ask- 
ing if  our  little  cavalcade  did  not  resemble  a  bright  gladdening 
sunbeam  on  a  gloomy  day.     She  looked  at  me  thoughtfiilly, 


THE  KOURIGAN.  123 

almost  dreamily,  for  a  moment,  and  shook  her  beautiful  head. 
Presently  she  replied — 

"  To  be  sure,  the  vast  moor  cannot  have  the  charms  for  you 
that  it  has  for  those  who  once  lived  happily  in  it.  But  there 
are  many  women  who  possess  true  worth  and  excellence, 
though  quite  devoid  of  beauty ;  and  this  bleak  moor  main- 
tains eight  Christian  congregations." 

I  inquired  how  long  she  had  lived  here. 

"  Fourteen  years,"  she  replied  ;  "  and  I  may  truly  say  that 
they  were  none  of  the  saddest  years  of  my  life.  My  little 
hood  and  red  serge  frock  covered  a  form  untouched  by  the 
finger  of  sorrow.  Ah,  yes  I  people  may  say  as  they  like, 
but  youth  is  surely  the  fairest  of  all  God's  gifts !" 

The  look  and  tone  which  accompanied  these  words  induced 
me  to  inquire  if  she  would  fain  recall  her  former  condition  of 
life. 

"  I  would  recall  nothing,  sir ;  but  never  can  I  forget  the 
past,"  she  replied,  in  an  agitated  voice,  at  the  same  time  giv- 
ing me  a  speaking,  hasty  look.  Then  she  added,  in  her  usual 
blithe  tone — 

"  If  you  could  but  know  how  happy  I  used  to  be  when 
driving  through  the  moor  with  poor  Gratien,  to  lift  the  first 
cut  of  turf." 

"  Gratien  was  your  guardian's  son,  I  suppose  ?" 

"He  was  a  poor  deserted  child,  whom  my  guardian,  or 
leather  his  sister,  had,  in  compassion,  rescued  from  the  hospital 
in  Savenai.  We  grew  up  together  like  brother  and  sister. 
Though  as  ugly  a  boy  as  could  well  be  found,  yet  a  more  amiable 
kind-hearted  creature  never  lived  upon  the  earth.  Alas !  his 
mind  has  of  late  become  deranged,  and  he  remains  from 
home  for  weeks  at  a  time,  wandering  about  no  one  knows 
where.  Many  people  think— -enough,  I  have  not  seen  him 
since  my  marriage." 


124  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

She  remained  silent  and  thoughtful  for  a  moment,  then 
went  on,  in  her  simple,  intelligent  manner,  to  draw  a  lively 
picture  of  her  former  life  and  occupations  ;  at  the  same  time, 
though  quite  unconsciously,  allowing  me  to  have  a  glimpse 
into  the  state  of  her  feelings  at  that  period.  Her  guardian, 
she  told  me,  was  in  the  hahit  of  cutting  a  very  large  quantity 
'  of  turf  annually,  and  conveying  it  in  his  own  hoat  across  the 
canal  of  Means  to  the  Loire.  A  long  farewell  was  bid  to 
home,  as,  freighted  wth  her  dusky  cargo,  the  heavy-laden 
boat,  with  her  single  sail  hoisted,  pushed  off  from  the  shore, 
to  which  she  was  not  to  return  for  several  months.  Michael 
the  guardian,  Jeanne,  and  Gratien,  composed  the  entire  crew  ; 
and  as  this  aquatic  turf-stack  struggled  against  the  current  of 
the  Loire,  the  voyage  was  always  fraught  with  toil,  ofttimes 
with  danger. 

The  turf  was  sold,  as  they  glided  on,  wherever  purchasers 
were  to  be  found,  or  else  bartered  for  other  goods  and  neces- 
sary provisions.  At  night  the  boat  was  anchored  near  the 
shore  ;  but  the  small  cabin  in  the  stern,  or  the  deck  when 
weather  permitted,  was  Jeanne's  home  during  the  entire 
voyage.  She  left  the  boat  only  when  the  press  of  work  re- 
quired her  attendance  in  some  of  the  larger  towns. 

During  the  depth  of  winter,  they  were  sometimes  ice-bound 
for  several  weeks  together ;  after  which,  when  the  melted 
ice  rendered  the  inundations  so  great  as  to  prevent  their  dis- 
cerning where  the  navigable  water  terminated,  they  had  often 
an  anxious,  dreary  time,  and  many  moments  of  solemn  thought. 
But  when  the  bright  smile  of  spring  once  more  gladdened  the 
earth,  when  the  beams  of  the  sun  grew  daily  warmer  and 
more  invigorating,  and  soft  silvery  clouds  passed  gently  over 
the  blue  sky ;  when  the  warbling  of  birds  could  be  heard 
diatinctly  from  amidst  the  shrubs  on  shore,  and  the  spring 
flowers  on  the  river-bank  again  opened  their  bright  eyes,  then 


THE  KOURIGAN.  125 

all  past  distress  was  quickly  forgotten.  Michael  would  hoist 
the  sail,  and  Gratien  cast  his  net,  while  Jeanne  occupied 
herself  pleasantly,  as  she  sat  on  deck,  in  musing,  singing,  and 
spinning. 

What  Jeanne  related  was  indeed  devoid  of  incident,  and 
therefore,  some  might  deem,  of  interest.  But,  to  my  mind,  it 
yielded  a  very  vivid  description  of  the  quiet,  cheerful  nature 
of  this  family,  unclouded  by  vain  or  evil  propensities,  as  they 
occupied  themselves  busily  in  a  simple,  honest,  useful,  and 
active  calling.  Four  years  of  Jeanne's  happy  girlhood  had 
thus  glided  by,  when,  as  they  were  embarking  at  Means,  she 
first  met  her  present  husband,  who,  contrary  to  the  custom  of 
the  people  iu  Saille,  and  for  the  sake  of  her  beautiful  eyes,  as 
he  said,  determined  to  marry  one  beyond  the  circle  of  his 
own  community.  Jeanne  laughed  and  sighed  alternately  as 
she  brought  her  little  history  to  a  conclusion.  This  excite- 
ment of  manner  might,  however,  betoken  nothing  more  than 
I  could  previously  have  guessed,  and  now  inferred,  from  a 
single  expression  which  escaped  her  lips,  that  his  giddy, 
thoughtless,  and  rather  proud  nature  often  caused  her  a  pang 
of  sorrow,  especially  as  he  had  already  run  through  the 
greatest  part  of  his  own  fortune  and  of  her  dowry. 

Our  conversation  was  suddenly  cut  short  by  the  appearing 
of  Michael  Maron  himself.  Jeanne  spied  him  at  a  great  dis- 
tance, as  he  was  busily  engaged,  with  his  sister,  in  cutting 
turf;  and,  shouting  with  joy,  she  urged  her  mule  towards  them 
at  a  quick  trot.  The  entire  cavalcade  followed  ;  and  Pierre 
Louis  and  I,  who  were  on  foot,  had  to  mend  our  pace  con- 
siderably, that  we  might  arrive  in  time  to  see  the  welcome. 
The  meeting  on  Jeanne's  part  exhibited  an  almost  impetuous 
though  pathetic  tenderness,  while  the  manner  of  the  old 
moor-peasant  and  his  sister — or  Bruyerons,  as  the  people  term 
themselves — was  marked  by  the  most  frigid  calmness,  such 


126  BKITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

as  was,  in  former  ages,  natural  to  the  natives  of  their  original 
mother- country,  and  especially  amongst  the  aristocracy.  This 
manner  arose  partly  from  a  sort  of  characteristic  dulness,  and 
partly  from  a  certain  refinement  of  feeling,  and  of  dignity, 
which  shrank  from  allowing  their  deeper  and  more  tender 
emotions  to  be  externally  manifested.  As  a  stranger,  I  w^as 
greeted  with  more  courtesy,  and  invited  to  partake  of  the 
hospitality  which  their  house  afforded. 

We  soon  set  forth  again  upon  our  way,  as  night  was  quickly 
closing  in,  and  we  had  still  a  good  half-hour's  ride  before  us. 
The  two  women  struck  into  a  beaten  path,  whilst  we  pro- 
ceeded with  the  remainder  of  the  mules  along  the  more  cir- 
cuitous highroad.  I  soon  found  myself  far  behind  my  com- 
panions ;  but  had  not  remained  so  long  when  the  thought 
struck  me,  that  the  beaten  track  must  surely  afford  some  more 
interesting  object  than  the  monotonous  view  which  lay  before 
me  ;  and,  besides,  I  preferred  conversing  with  Jeanne  and 
her  friend,  to  staying  with  the  men,  whose  talk  was  almost 
unintelligible  to  me,  and  who,  so  far  as  I  could  understand, 
had — in  their  peculiar  patois — entered  into  a  tedious  conver- 
sation on  business.  So  I  determined  to  ride  quietly  across  to 
the  narrow  path,  where,  through  the  fading  twilight,  I  could 
still  distinguish  the  two  figures,  whom  I  hoped  soon  to 
overtake.  But  lo  !  before  I  was  at  all  aware,  I  was  suddenly 
immersed  in  one  of  the  morasses  of  this  treacheroiis  soil.  I 
had  lost  sight  of  every  object  around  ;  and,  owing  to  the  in- 
creasing darkness,  I  was  quite  unable  to  extricate  myself  from 
my  uncomfortable  position.  All  attempts  to  make  my  voice 
heard  were  iinavailing ;  it  seemed  as  if  the  atmosphere  were 
too  heavy  to  transmit  any  sound,  and  I  felt  that  the  shouts 
which  I  uttered  caused  a  painful  straining  of  the  muscles  of 
my  chest  and  throat.  The  only  effort  I  could  make,  which 
appeared  practicable  with  my  already  wearied  beast,  was  to 


THE  KOURIGAN.  127 

follow  a  narrow  rut  or  hollow,  between  two  of  the  long- 
extended  mountainous  undulations,  which  I  supposed  would 
finally  conduct  us  to  some  human  habitation. 

The  air,  meanwhile,  had  become  more  and  more  sultry  and 
oppressive  ;  and  I  observed  a  constantly-increasing  smoke, 
which  at  last  rendered  it  painful  to  me  to  open  my  eyes.  But 
what  distressed  me  more  was,  that  the  mule  showed  each 
moment  less  inclination  to  proceed.  Suddenly  he  sprang, 
first  to  one  side,  then  to  the  other,  from  which  he  as  suddenly 
rebounded,  as  if  he  had  seen  some  object  of  danger,  or  some 
source  of  pain  invisible  to  me.  Then  he  would  remain  for 
a  moment  quite  rigid,  trembling  and  snorting,  and  at  last 
gallop  frantically  round  and  round  in  a  narrow  circle,  neigh- 
ing and  whining  all  the  while ;  again  he  would  rear,  kick, 
or  spring  up  all  fours  in  the  air,  without  any  regard  to  spur 
or  rein.  It  was  only  when  darkness  had  completely  set 
in,  that  I  discovered  the  cause  of  this  frenzy,  and  observed 
that  the  poor  animal's  feet  sank  at  every  step  through  the 
thin  layer,  which  I  had  mistaken  for  gray  sand,  but  which 
was  in  reality  ashes,  and  plunged  into  a  stratum  of  glowing 
turf,  which  emitted  the  dense  smoke  that  now  threatened  to 
suffocate  me,  and  out  of  which,  in  his  anguish  and  alarm, 
the  hoofs  of  the  animal  scattered  burning  sparks  around. 

My  situation  had  become  extremely  critical,  when  the  wel- 
come voices  of  my  two  guides  reached  my  ears  from  the  road, 
which  passed  quite  close  to  where  I  was  ;  they  had  heard  me 
encouraging  the  poor  beast,  and  they  soon  appeared  at  the  sum- 
mit of  the  rising  ground.  Calling  aloud,  they  directed  me 
to  a  stagnant  pool  which  lay  about  twenty  paces  before  me. 
With  the  help  of  his  master's  stimulating  cry,  I  succeeded  in 
bringing  the  mule  to  the  margin  of  the  pool,  where  he  made 
a  firm  stand  ;  nor  could  my  utmost  endeavours  induce  him  to 
proceed  a  step  farther,  or  conquer  his  dread  of  coming  into 


128  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VEND^Se. 

contact  with  the  dark  and  loathsome  water.  At  length,  with 
the  assistance  of  his  companion's  long  pole,  Pierre  Louis  made 
a  spring,  swung  himself  from  the  height  where  he  stood,  over 
the  burning  soil,  and  lighted,  with  the  dexterity  of  an  eques- 
trian performer,  on  the  back  of  the  animal,  behind  me  ;  then 
taking  a  firm  hold  of  me,  he  seized  the  reins,  and  both  with 
spur  and  voice  urged  the  poor  animal  to  take  one  good  leap* 
into  the  middle  of  the  pool ;  and  after  slowly  fording  it,  as 
though  his  scorched  hoofs  enjoyed  the  coolness  of  the  water, 
he  at  length  reached  the  opposite  bank. 

On  dismounting,  I  heartily  thanked  the  grenadier  for  hav- 
ing rescued  me  from  such  imminent  danger,  when  he  rather 
drily  observed :  "  He  who  is  not  acquainted  with  the  paths 
and  burning  soil  of  the  Bruyere,  should  carefully  keep  by  those 
who  are  familiar  with  it,  or  perhaps  trust  to  the  instinct  of 
his  horse,  which,  in  such  cases,  is  often  better  able  to  find  the 
way  than  its  rider,  though  he  should  happen  to  be  a  scholar. 
Poor  Belotte!"  he  added,  as  he  stroked  the  reeking  side  of 
the  trembling  animal,  "  you  will  be  lame  to  the  end  of  your 
days  ;  and  were  I  not  already  a  ruined  man,  your  price  would 
also  have  to  come  out  of  my  pocket." 

I  set  his  mind  at  rest  on  the  latter  score  ;  and  as  he  soon 
resumed  his  usual  light-hearted  manner,  we  pursued  our  way, 
though  now  on  foot,  with  as  much  good  humour  and  friend- 
liness as  before.  Our  conversation  naturally  dwelt  on  the  sub- 
ject of  the  moor-fires,  and  other  peculiarities  of  this  part  of  the 
coimtry.  I  was  struck  by  the  appearance  of  small  streaks  of 
light  darling  up,  here  and  there,  all  over  the  neighbourhood  ; 
but  old  Maron  told  me  that  he  had  once  seen  a  conflagration 
of  this  kind  so  extensive  as  to  threaten  to  overspread  the 
entire  moor,  and  which  was  only  extinguished  by  the  most 
strenuous  exertions  of  the  moor-sprites,  after  having  lasted  for 
several  days,  during  which  time  the  alarum-bell  rang  inces- 


THE  KOURIGAN.  129 

santly,  and  signals  of  distress  were  constantly  given ;  but 
that  since  then  the  fires  had  been  limited  to  certain  portions 
of  the  soil. 

As  we  walked  along,  Pierre  Louis  chanced  to  plant  his  leap- 
ing-pole  too  deeply  in  the  ground,  and  had  extreme  difficulty 
in  drawing  it  out  again.  He  declared  that  had  he  allowed 
it  to  remain  there,  it  would  have  disappeared  entirely  before 
morning,  the  moor  having  an  all-absorbing  faculty.  The 
peasant  remarked  that  the  ground  is  constantly  rising ;  and 
that  to  what  depth  soever  they  cut  the  turf,  the  surface  still 
remains  at  its  former  height.  On  my  inquiring  the  cause  of 
this  strange  phenomenon,  he  said  :  "  Is  it  possible  that  this 
is  still  unknown  to  you,  sir  ?  Originally  the  moor  was  com- 
posed, so  to  speak,  of  two  stories — one  on  the  level  ground, 
and  one  beneath  it.  At  that  time  it  was  the  joint  property 
of  the  sons  of  Japhet  and  of  the  Kourigans ;  and  the  two 
parties  took  it  by  turns  to  live  in  the  cellar  or  on  the  ground- 
floor.  But  it  so  happened,  that  the  sons  of  Japhet  took 
advantage  of  their  position,  once  upon  a  time,  when  dwelling 
above,  and  built  up  the  cellar,  in  order  that  their  neighbours 
might  not  again  change  places  with  them — so  the  Kourigans 
have  remained  below  ever  since  ;  and  when  they  try  to  force 
a  passage  into  the  upper  territory,  the  moor  rises  along  with 
them.  It  is  they  who  draw  everything  dovwi  that  is  stuck 
into  the  moor ;  and  the  fires  also  are  their  work.  There 
remains  but  one  of  these  beings  above  ground,  who  hap- 
pened to  be  out  at  the  time,  and  returned  too  late  to  gain 
admission  to  his  companions.  We  call  him  the  little  collier  ; 
and  he  has  wandered  about  amongst  men  ever  since,  announc- 
ing and  procuring  to  them  all  kinds  of  misfortune." 

We  arrived  very  late  and  weary  at  Maron's  residence,  and 
soon  retired  to  rest.  The  next  morning  we  set  out  again 
before  dawn,  and  drove  through  the  moor  without  any  further 


130  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

adventure.  Pierre  Louis  was  as  light-hearted,  and  whistled 
as  merrily  as  ever ;  Jeanne,  on  the  contrary,  looked  very  sad 
and  desponding.  On  my  taking  her  husband  aside  to  inquire 
the  cause  of  her  low  spirits,  he  replied :  "  Poor  Jeanne  saw 
the  little  collier  last  evening — the  black  Kourigan  that  we 
were  telling  you  about — and  since  then,  his  dark  shadow 
seems  to  have  rested  upon  her  heart.  One  should  not  mind 
these  things,  but  should  try  to  overcome  such  weak  terrors ; 
and  yet  I  would  give  a  great  deal  that  she  had  not  seen 
him." 

We  soon  left  the  great  moor  behind,  our  course  leading 
through  scenery  completely  different,  and  still  not  less  remark- 
able. At  first  we  passed  innumerable  meadows,  that  were 
bounded  on  the  left  by  stately  poplars  and  alder-trees,  through 
the  foliage  of  which  glittered  white  sails  and  streaming  pen- 
dants, which  bespoke  our  vicinity  to  the  Loire.  We  next 
passed  waving  com  fields  on  the  plains  of  St.  Nazaire.  Then 
the  sandy  wastes  of  Escoublac.  Here  the  fine  snow-white 
sand  formed  an  endless  number  of  hills  and  valleys,  and  was 
often  piled  into  the  most  fantastic  shapes,  or  whirled  up  into 
lofty  columns  by  the  ever-shifting  storm.  On  the  lower 
ground  there  occasionally  appeared  lakes  of  brackish  water, 
in  which  the  blue  sky  and  the  fleeting  clouds  were  clearly 
mirrored ;  while,  on  closer  observation,  the  fossil  shells  of  a 
limestone  deposit  were  to  be  seen  upon  their  banks.  The  only 
vegetation  here  was  a  species  of  large  thistle,  and  solitary 
clumps  of  pale-green  rushes.  There  was  no  cultivation,  nor 
a  single  human  habitation.  No  sound  of  life  was  to  be  heard 
except  the  cry  of  a  kind  of  small  sea-gull,  which  mounted  up 
in  swarms,  now  in  one  place,  now  in  another,  as  if  driven  to 
and  fro  by  the  tempest  each  time  that  they  tried  to  settle 
down.  It  was  long  before  we  got  a  glimpse  of  the  sea,  but 
we  heard  the  sound  of  its  rolling  waves,  as  they  broke  upon 


Tin:  KOL'KIGAN.  131 

the  shore,  sometimes  distinctly,  then  again  in  distant  mur- 
murs, according  as  our  road  neared  or  receded  from  the  yet 
unseen  coast.  Upon  the  Mghest  of  these  hills  arose  a  solitaiy 
tree,  tlie  only  one  this  desert  shore  produces.  It  marks  the 
spot  where  the  church  and  churchyard  of  the  ancient  town  of 
Escoublac  once  stood.  The  bones  of  those  who  have  been  laid 
here — to  rest^  as  was  no  doubt  supposed — are  now  strewn  over 
the  entire  declivity  of  the  hill,  from  which  they  are  con- 
stantly drifted  about  by  the  restless  fury  of  the  tempest. 
Pierre  Louis  pointed  out  to  me  the  spot  where  he  remembers 
to  have  seen,  in  his  childhood,  the  top  of  the  steeple  peeping 
from  above  the  sand. 

In  a  little  valley  surrounded  by  several  of  these  drifted 
hills,  and  so  sheltered  that  some  miserable  plants  were  ac- 
tually trying  to  exist  there,  we  proposed  to  rest  for  a  while. 
Jeanne  was  a  short  way  before  us ;  she  seemed  to  be  anxiously 
awaiting  our  approach  as  she  sat  musing  on  a  stone,  which 
appeared  to  have  been  placed  there  for  the  convenience  of 
travellers  by  some  imknown  benefactor,  and  had  evidently 
been  carried  from  a  great  distance,  as  it  was  the  only  one  to 
be  seen  far  and  wide.  This  stone,  of  which  one  side  was 
rough-hewn,  may  probably  be  the  only  fragment  now  visible, 
of  the  town  which  lies  buried  in  the  sand.  When  we  had 
arrived  at  this  resting-place,  and  were  dismounting,  I  made 
an  attempt  to  cheer  up  Jeanne  by  some  passing  joke ;  but  she 
suddenly  interrupted  me,  as  she  sprang  up,  and,  pointing  to  a 
spot  near  her,  cried  out,  in  a  terrified  voice — "  Look  there — 
look,  the  Kourigan  I"  We  eagerly  turned  to  that  part  of  the 
ground  on  which  her  gaze  was  riveted,  and  observed  that  the 
fine  sand  had  been  carefully  smoothed,  and  pressed  firmly  down, 
while  on  this  flat  surface  were  traced  letters,  and  somewhat 
magic-looking  characters.  "  Heaven  protect  us  !"  exclaimed 
Pierre  Louis;  "  it  is  your  name,  Jeanne  1"     "  So  it  is,  to  be 


132  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDJ^K. 

gure  I " — I  obsei'ved,  on  seeing  that  Jeanne  trembled  from  head 
to  foot,  and  leaned  on  her  husband,  as  she  buried  her  face  on 
his  shoulder ;  "  but  what  is  there  so  terrifying  in  that,  and 
what  has  it  to  do  with  your  tiresome  Kourigan  ?  It  merely 
proves  that  more  people  than  wc  have  discovered  that  Jeanne 
is  not  only  the  best,  but  also  the  handsomest  woman  to  be 
seen  between  Vannes  and  Nantes — that  is,  if  our  Jeanne  is 
the  fair  one  designated,  and  not  any  other  of  the  ten  thousand 
Jeannes  whom  this  country  may  contain." 

Pierre  Louis  was  evidently  much  disquieted,  but  he  tried 
by  some  rather  imseasonable  jests,  to  calm  his  own  and  his 
wife's  terrors,  or  to  delude  her  with  respect  to  the  strange 
subject  of  their  fear.  While,  without  further  delay,  we  set 
off  on  our  journey,  Jeanne  listened  to  his  remarks  with  a 
silent  shake  of  the  head,  but  her  look  told  of  deep  and  bitter 
anguish.  When  we  had  gone  a  little  farther,  I  perceived 
more  marks  in  the  sand,  at  some  distance.  These  were  foot- 
prints which  could  not  have  been  made  by  any  known  animal, 
and  near  them  was  a  circle  formed  by  some  curious  and 
small  implement,  such  as  a  claw  or  a  tiny  finger.  This  new 
discovery  seemed  to  remove  from  Pierre  Louis'  mind  every 
remaining  doubt  of  these  strange  hieroglyphics  having  been 
traced  by  supernatural  agency,  and,  casting  a  melancholy 
look  at  Jeanne,  he  urged  on  his  mule  to  its  utmost  speed. 
The  poor  woman  was  already  so  overcome  by  terror  and  sad 
foreboding,  that  this  fresh  confirmation  of  her  fears  merely 
wrung  from  her  a  heart-rending  sigh,  accompanied  by  the 
words— « I  knew  it  too  well!"  The  distracted  manner  of 
my  fellow-travellers  plainly  evincing  that  any  attempt  at  a 
rational  investigation,  or  playful  treatment  of  the  subject, 
would  be  out  of  place,  I  also  rode  on  in  silence. 

The  proneness  to  superstition  in  the  minds  of  this  race, 
which  even  exceeds  that  manifested  by  the  other  inhabi- 


THE  KOURIGAN.  133 

tants  of  Brittany,  was  not  unknown  to  me.  I  had  already- 
heard  of  the  "  treacherous  monk,"  who  sits  upon  a  stone  at 
the  roadside,  near  his  heap  of  gold,  and  nightly  invites  the 
passer-by  to  play  with  him — a  game  involving  not  only  the 
loss  of  the  mule  and  its  load,  but  also  of  the  life  and  soul  of 
its  owner.  I  had  heard  of  the  "  phantom  mule,"  whicli 
quietly  allows  the  way-worn  midnight  traveller  to  mount 
him,  and  then  disappears  with  him  for  ever ;  of  the  "  fog- 
bell  "  that  is  heard  on  stormy  nights,  and  whose  tinkle  the  ' 
wanderer  mistakes  for  that  of  an  approaching  mule,  till  it 
lures  him  on  to  the  raging  sea,  or  to  some  other  equally  in- 
evitable destruction. 

I  had  been  musing  on  these  strange  popular  superstitions, 
which  are,  for  the  most  part,  the  remains  of  ancient  heathen 
fables,  still  subsisting  in  this  nominally  Christian,  and,  some 
say,  highly  civilized  and  enlightened  age  ! — and  I  was  so 
absorbed  in  my  reverie,  as  not  to  observe  that  we  had  quite 
left  the  sandy  country,  and  were  now  passing  by  rich  corn 
fields,  and  approaching  villages  and  country-seats  that  peeped 
from  behind  their  well-stocked  orchards.  The  song  of  the 
reapers,  heard  on  all  sides,  and  becoming  louder  and  more 
distinct  as  we  proceeded,  at  length  recalled  my  wandering 
thoughts.  They  sang,  in  rather  a  monotonous  tune,  an  ad- 
dress, chiefly  extempore,  to  their  oxen,  which  were  drawing 
home  the  heavy-laden  corn  waggons,  apparently  much  enjoy- 
ing this  stimulus  to  their  labours.*    Where  there  was  a  pause 

*  Any  attempt  at  a  translation  of  such  8ong.<i,  must  fail  to  convey  an  adequate  idea  of 
their  simple  beauty ;  so  that  we  believe  we  shall  afford  more  pleasure  to  our  readers,  by 
giving  a  specimen  of  them  in  their  original  purity  : — 

"  nc  mon  rougeaud ! 

Mon  noireaud ! 

AUons  ferme  a  lliousteau, 

Vous  aurez  du  mouveau. 

V  bon  Dieu  alme  les  Chrfitlensl 

L'bie  a  grains  ben; 


134  BEITTANY  AND  LA  VENDj^E. 

in  the  song,  or  when  it  ended,  they  immediately  relaxed  their 
exertions,  and  were  sometimes  inclined  to  stand  still  alto- 
gether ;  but  when  the  tune  was  raised  again,  they  also  raised 
their  heads,  and  went  vigorously  forward  with  their  precious 
burden. 

Pierre  Louis  had  by  this  time  throAvn  oflf  the  unwonted 
pressure  of  sadness  which  had  oppressed  him,  and  occasionally 
exchanged  friendly  or  bantering  words  with  one  and  another 
as  they  passed.  He  soon  began  to  meet  acquaintances,  and 
I  surmised  that  we  were  not  far  from  his  home.  Jeanne 
seemed  like  one  in  a  trance  as  she  rode  along,  her  straining 
gaze  ever  directed  forwards,  and  regardless  of  all  that  was 
passing  around.  The  entire  concentration  of  her  thoughts  on 
one  subject,  was  plainly  evinced  as  her  husband  took  hold  of 
her  bridle,  and  stopped  her  mule,  saying — 

"  Do  you  see  nothing,  Jeanne  ?" 

She  started  back,  and  asked,  in  a  wild  and  terrified  voice — 

"  What  is  it,  Pierre  Louis  ?     You  have  frightened  me !" 

"Oh!  you  are  dreaming !"  he  playfully  replied.  "What 
have  you  been  looking  at,  far  away,  that  you  have  not  seen 
our  church-steeple  peeping  up  from  behind  the  wood  ?" 

"  Our  steeple  !"  she  exclaimed,  deeply  agitated,  and  clasping 
her  hands  for  an  instant,  then  adding — "  And  our  child — our 
poor  child,  I  have  sought  him,  but  can  find  him  nowhere  I" 

A  flood  of  tears  relieved  her  sorrow-stricken  heart ;  and  she 
again  urged  forward  her  mule,  while  Pierre  Louis  tenderly 
tried  to  soothe  her,  assuring  her  that  she  would  now  soon  be 
able  to  embrace  her  child. 

Some  more  intimate  friends — from  whom  Pierre  Louis  in- 

"  Mes  mignons  c'est  vot'  gain ! 
Les  gens  aurons  du  pain, 
Nos  femmes  vont  ben  chanter, 
Et  les  enfans  serons  gais ! 
H6  mon  rougeaud,"  &c. 


THK  KOURIGAN.  135 

quired,  as  we  passed,  how  all  were  in  Saille  ?  what  news  from 
thence  ?  and  if  they  had  seen  little  Pierre  lately  ? — replied 
in  general  terms,  and,  I  thought,  in  rather  an  embarrassed 
manner.  This  only  made  Jeanne  ride  on  with  increased 
speed. 

At  length  we  reached  the  first  house  in  the  place.  An  old 
woman,  who  was  spinning  at  her  door,  ran  up  to  Jeanne,  ex- 
claiming— 

"  Ah,  poor  soul !  you  have  just  come  in  time." 

"In  time!  for  what?" 

"Do  you  not  know  yet?"  asked  the  good  woman,  quite 
perplexed. 

"What? — what? — what  do  I  not  know?"  groaned  poor 
Jeanne. 

"Oh!  yoiir  little  one!" 

"My  little  Pierre  I" 

She  did  not  wait  for  the  answer,  hut  rushed  frantically 
along  the  street  toward  her  home. 

We  found  the  child  in  a  violent  attack  of  scarlet  fever, 
which  was  then  raging,  in  one  of  its  most  malignant  forms, 
over  the  whole  of  Guerande.  The  neighbours  came  crowding 
in ;  amongst  them  many  mothers,  whose  own  children  had 
been  snatched  away  by  the  disease  ;  and  tales  of  wo,  well- 
meant  but  ignorant  and  exaggerated  views  of  the  child's 
illness,  miserable  attempts  at  consolation,  and  suggestions  of 
absurd  or  hazardous  remedies,  were  poured  in  from  all  s-ides 
upon  the  poor  mother.  I  was  astonished  at  her  self-com- 
mand. After  the  first  shock  had  subsided,  it  seemed  as  if  the 
certainly  of  the  danger — a  presentiment  of  which  had  hitherto 
so  overwhelmed  her— joined  to  the  urgent  call  for  the  exercise 
of  her  maternal  love  and  skill,  had  suddenly  restored  all  the 
intelligence  and  energy  of  her  natural  character.  She  sup- 
pressed her  sobs,  dried  her  eyes,  and  with  the  greatest  deci- 


136  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDEE. 

sion,  presence  of  mind,  and  gentleness,  entered  upon  all  her 
rights  and  duties  as  sick-nurse,  mother,  and  housewife.  Pierre 
Louis,  on  the  contrary,  after  having  given  vent  to  a  hoisterous 
expression  of  passionate  grief,  threw  himself,  quite  exhausted, 
into  a  corner,  groaning  and  lamenting,  and  even  cursing  his 
journey.  The  neighbours  disappeared  one  after  another ; 
they  felt  that  none  could  share  the  mother's  place  beside  her 
infant's  cradle. 

After  some  time,  the  father  jumped  up,  impatient  of  the 
unwonted  restraint  laid  upon  him  by  serious  anxiety  and 
imminent  danger.  He  went  over  to  the  cradle,  and  soon 
discovered  what  he  wanted — some  ground  or  pretest  for  cast- 
ing off  this  unusual  and  inconvenient  burden.  The  flush  of 
fever  in  the  child's  face,  was  to  him  a  sure  sign  of  returning 
health. 

"  You  shall  see,  Jeanne,"  he  whispered,  "  that  this  will 
not  matter  ;  he  is  not  even  pale,  the  little  cherub  !  The  talk 
and  exaggerated  stories  of  the  women  quite  overcame  me  at 
first ;  but  you'll  find,  my  poor  darling,  that  it  will  not  come 
to  anything  more  serious." 

He  was  even  irritable  when  Jeanne  quietly  replied,  clasping 
her  hands — 

"  God  grant  it,  Pierre  !  the  child's  life  is  in  His  hand." 

After  having,  in  a  noisy  and  agitated  manner,  performed 
all  sorts  of  foolish,  well-intended  offices,  to  which  she  paid 
no  attention — kneeling  the  while  in  silent  prayer  beside  the 
cradle — Pierre  went  out  in  a  perfectly  tranquil  and  almost 
lively  mood,  to  deliver  up  the  mules  to  their  owners,  and  look 
after  his  other  affairs.  I  followed  him,  promising  Jeanne  that 
I  would  return  shortly  to  inquire  about  the  child.  I  soon 
procured  accommodation  for  myself  with  a  certain  Mr.  Con- 
tent— such  was  the  soubriquet  by  which  he  was  known  all 
over  the  country,  and  which  he  well  deserved  by  his  inex- 


THE  KOURIGAN.  137 

haustible  store  of  self-satisfaction,  -wliicli  was  so  great  as  to 
make  him,  in  general,  almost  as  well  pleased  with  other 
people  and  things  as  with  himself. 

My  first  walk,  under  his  agreeable  and  loquacious  escort, 
was  to  see  the  salt-works.  The  dykes,  confining  the  sea-water 
— admitted  by  sluices  into  the  great  tank  or  reservoir,  where 
it  was  evaporated  by  the  action  of  the  sun— were  covered  with 
heaps  of  beautiful,  white  crystallized  salt.  Handsome  and 
robust  girls  and  women  collected  the  particles  of  salt  from 
the  tank  into  shallow  wooden  tubs,  which,  when  well  filled, 
they  carried  nimbly  and  gracefully  to  the  store-house.  A 
sweet  perfume,  as  of  violets,  was  caused  by  the  motion  of  the 
rake  used  in  collecting  the  salt ;  and  this  accorded  well  with 
the  general  appearance  of  freshness  and  purity  which  met  the 
eye  in  every  direction.  Fine  athletic  men  were  also  actively 
engaged,  here  and  there,  at  heavy  labour,  which  they  per- 
formed apparently  with  the  greatest  ease.  An  air  of  cheerful- 
ness seemed  to  pervade  the  entire  party,  while  laughter, 
song,  and  lively  jests  were  heard  around.  The  custom-house 
officers  alone — who  still  retain  here  the  ancient  name  of  gabe- 
loux,  and  whose  province  it  is  to  prevent  salt  being  sold  with- 
out payment  of  duty — stalked  about  with  gloomy,  sullen,  or 
suspicious  looks. 

My  guide  introduced  me  to  the  leader  of  these  men  as 
a  country-man — that  is  to  say,  a  Parisian.  The  little, 
active,  sinewy,  bustling,  conceited  fellow,  was  presented  to 
me  merely  under  his  soubriquet  of  *'  the  Parisian,"  which  he 
considered  a  highly  honourable  title.  He  teased  and  irritated 
me  with  absurd  inquiries  about  Paris,  representing  himself  as 
having  moved  in  its  highest  circles,  and  expressed  the  deepest 
and  most  pitiful  contempt  of  the  provincials,  amongst  whom 
he  was  banished  ;  but  in  all  things,  he  excepted  my  guide,  as 
being  half  a  Parisian. 


138  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

"  They  certainly  are  honest  and  good-natured,  sir, "  said  he, 
concluding  his  remarks  upon  the  characteristics  of  the  people  ; 
"  but  genius,  education,  talents — talents,  sir,  none^  as  we  used 
to  write  in  the  signalements,  when  I  was  in  the  city  police. 
This  one  does  what  the  mayor  orders ;  the  other  has  the 
greatest  respect  for  the  parson  ;  men  and  women,  all  are  per- 
fectly besotted  by  religion.  Do  you  know  what  would  be 
most  needed  here?  That  the  company  from  Les  Amhigus 
should  be  sent  to  enact  '  The  Bishop  and  the  Parson.'  You 
know  that  charming  play  ?"  But,  bah  !  three-fourths  of  these 
creatures  do  not  know  there  is  such  a  place  in  the  world  as 
a  theatre.  They  go  to  church,  sir — to  churchy  and  that  is 
enough  for  them  !  Yes,  you  may  believe  it  or  not ;  in  the 
entire  station,  there  are  scarcely  to  be  found  a  dozen  fellows 
with  spirit  enough  to  amuse  themselves  by  smuggling  salt ; 
and  amongst  these,  there  is  hardly  one  who  does  not  allow 
himself  to  be  seized  almost  at  once  !  There  is  truly  neither 
credit  nor  satisfaction  in  such  a  service." 

Content  now  paid  some  compliments  to  this  gentleman's 
vigilance  and  dexterity,  and  mentioned  an  affair  in  which  he 
had  lately  evinced  both,  in  the  discovery  of  a  deep-laid  smug- 
gling plot.  But  with  a  show  of  modesty,  he  proudly  declined 
the  praise. 

"How  could  one  exhibit  skill  here?"  said  he,  shrugging 
his  shoulders ;  *'  it  is  totally  superfluous.  But,  sir,  the  Reper- 
toire— one  remembers  one's  Repertoire  still,  and  it  is  not  quite 
in  vain,  I  hope,  that  one  has  been  an  habitue  of  Les  Avibigus. 
Do  you  not  recollect,  a  perfectly  similar  scene  to  that  in 
which  I  acted  with  these  blockheads,  is  represented  in  the 
*  Sexton  of  St.  Paul's  ?' — a  charming  piece  that  1" 

"Do  you  see  that  fellow  yonder?"  he  continued,  after  an 
interruption  caused" by  some  inquiries  from  one  of  his  men — 
"  he  is  one  of  the  brightest-brained  amonsrst  them — he  who  is 


THE  KOURIGAN.  '  139 

standing  there  gazing  into  iais  salt-vat,  as  if  his  happiness 
had  fallen  into  it.  It  is  true,  he  has  been  unfortunate ; 
poor  Pierre  Louis !  his  journey  has  turned  out  badly ;  and 
while  he  was  away,  tlie  people  here  have  allowed  his  child 
to  fall  sick,  and  have  so  mismanaged  his  salt,  that  it 
aflfords  him  no  return.  But  if  he  would  only  set  himself  to 
work  in  earnest,  he  might  yet  have  a  good  after-crop.  In- 
stead of  that,  there  he  stands,  and  will  engage  in  nothing,  nor 
take  any  advice.  There  is  no  help  for  it,  he  says ;  and  why 
so  ? — because  the  Kourigan  has  cast  an  evil  spell  over  him !" 

This  was  my  friend  the  grenadier.  I  could  not  repress  my 
emotion,  and  an  exclamation  of  sympathy  and  distress  at 
this  new  trial  which  had  befallen  the  poor  couple,  in  whom  I 
had  taken  such  a  warm  interest  during  the  few  days  I  had 
been  with  them. 

The  Parisian  regarded  this  as  an  expression  of  surprise  and 
admiration  at  what  he  had  communicated,  and  went  on — 

"  You  have,  no  doubt,  already  heard  of  this  absurd  super- 
stition ?  Evidently  you  are  of  the  romantic  school,  sir ;  for 
my  part,  I  am  classic — purely  classic ;  but  that  matters  little 
— intellectual  people  always  understand  each  other.  As  for 
these  creatures,  whom  superstition  has  robbed  of  all  the  dig- 
nity of  man,  they  do  not  comprehend  that  the  lot  of  each  of 
us — good  or  bad,  as  it  may  chance  to  be — is  directed  by  fate. 
Napoleon  called  it  his  star,  as  you  are  aware.  I  also,  who 
have  now  the  honour  of  addressing  you,  have  my  star,  and 
that  one  of  no  mean  magnitude,  I  assure  you.  Two  somnam- 
bulists, pupils  of  the  renowned  Lenormand,  have  foretold  my 
union  with  an  heiress  of  noble  birth  I " 

I  was  glad  when  this  man  of  many  words  was  called  away, 
as  it  afforded  nie  an  opportunity  of  looking  after  poor  Pierre 
Louis  ;  but  he  had  left  the  spot  where  for  a  long  time  he  had 
stood  so  wo-begone.     When  Content  had  pointed  out  to  me 


140  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

every  object  of  interest  in  the  neighbouAood,  we  retraced  our 
steps,  and  on  the  way  observed  a  number  of  people  assembled 
at  the  door  of  a  tavern,  from  which  issued  boisterous  sounds 
of  revelry  and  song.  We  learned  that  this  jovial  party  was 
collected  on  the  occasion  of  the  marriage  of  a  cousin  of  Pierre 
Louis,  who  was  known  by  the  appellation  of  the  salt-devourer, 
acquired  by  his  being  one  of  the  most  daring  and  successful  of 
the  salt- smugglers.  I  perceived  with  regret  as  we  passed, 
that  Pierre  Louis  had  allowed  himself  to  be  persuaded  to  join 
this  questionable  company.  He  either  did  not,  or  pretended 
that  he  did  not  hear  my  call,  asking  him  to  accompany  me  to 
his  house.  I  was  about  to  make  another  attempt,  but  was  pre- 
vented by  the  tormenting  Parisian,  who  had  overtaken,  and 
now  wished  to  obtrude  his  company  upon  us ;  but  when  I, 
under  some  pretext  or  other,  peremptorily  declined  the  honour, 
he  accepted  an  invitation  from  some  of  the  most  respectable  of 
the  wedding-guests,  and  seated  himself  amongst  them. 

On  entering  the  still  gloomy  sick-room,  I  found  Jeanne 
seated  near  the  cradle,  with  clasped  hands,  and  eye  riveted 
on  her  child.  Without  any  salutation  or  further  notice  of  me, 
she  said,  in  a  low,  heart-thrilling  tone — 

"  Little  Pierre  is  dying  !  " 

I  tried  to  soothe  her,  though  she  made  no  reply ;  but,  rising 
from  her  seat,  paced  once  or  twice  up  and  down  the  room, 
wringing  her  hands,  as  if  trying  to  command  her  feelings ; 
then  seating  herself  by  the  hearth,  she  covered  her  face,  and 
wept  and  sobbed  bitterly.  Soon  this  paroxysm  was  over,  and 
she  remained  perfectly  quiet  and  motionless.  The  laboured 
breathing  of  the  poor  sick  baby,  and  the  riotous  sounds  of  the 
wedding-party,  alone  broke  the  deathlike  stillness  that  pre- 
vailed around. 

From  a  slight  knowledge  of  medicine  which  I  had  incident- 
ally acquired  very  early  in  life,  I  could  plainly  discover,  on  a 


THE  KOURIGAN.  141 

more  close  observation  of  the  child,  that  there  was  no  cause 
for  such  great  alarm,  as  the  symptoms  rather  seemed  to  argue 
a  favourable  crisis.  After  giving  my  opinion,  I  tried  to  im- 
press upon  her  that  she  had  permitted  the  already-mentioned 
evil  omens  seen  on  our  way  home  to  usurp  too  much  influence 
over  her  feelings. 

**  On  the  way,  and  since"  she  emphatically  returned,  as 
she  rose  from  her  chair,  looked  round  in  turn,  and  then  knelt 
down  again  beside  the  cradle.  To  my  further  inquiries,  she 
replied — 

"  I  was  sitting  here  in  the  dusk — before  you,  sir,  came  in, 
— and  I  had  wept  so  much  that  light  and  darkness,  day  and 
night,  were  all  alike  to  me  ;  suddenly  I  was  roused  by  hear- 
ing the  sound  of  a  footstep  quite  close  to  me,  and  then  a 
sigh ;  but  on  looking  sharply  all  around,  I  could  discover  no 
source  from  whence  they  might  have  proceeded.  Presently,  I 
heard  similar  sounds,  and  then  my  name  distinctly  uttered. 
My  heart  at  once  told  me  that  this  was  a  warning !  He  who 
once  loved  me  so  dearly  must  have  risen  from  the  grave  to  let 
me  know  that  death  is  preparing  a  resting-place  near  his. 
One  thing  is  certain,  that  ere  this  night  be  over,  some  Chris- 
tian in  this  house  must  die  1 " 

I  was  about  to  answer,  when  she  suddenly  interrupted  me 
by  a  cry  of  terror,  as,  springing  to  her  feet,  she  pointed, 
speechless  and  panic-struck,  to  a  door  that  led  from  the  yard 
into  the  garden,  and  which  was  visible  from  the  window  by 
the  pale  moonlight.  True  enough,  there  stood  in  the  door- 
way, the  shadow  of  which  half  concealed  him,  a  strange-look- 
ing being,  small,  deformed,  wearing  a  broad-brimmed  hat, 
which  was  placed  so  low  on  his  brow,  as  quite  to  conceal  the 
face,  and  holding  a  long  staif  in  his  hand. 

"  There  he  is  1 "  faltered  Jeanne  ;  "  the  Kourigan  1 " 

As  softly,  and  quickly  as  I  could,  I  slipped  out  by  the  back- 


142  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

door,  and  crept  along,  under  the  shadow  of  the  wall,  towards 
the  door  in  question.  I  was  just  within  reach  of  the  figure, 
when  it  perceived  me,  and  vanished.  I  would  have  followed, 
thinking  I  again  saw  it  disappear  through  a  gap  in  the  garden 
hedge  ;  but  I  considered  that  any  further  search  through  the 
adjacent  hedges,  bushes,  and  gardens,  after  one  acquainted 
doubtless  with  the  localities,  would  be  of  no  avail ;  while,  per- 
haps, in  the  meantime  Jeanne  might  be  exposed  to  still  fur- 
ther annoyance. 

As  I  returned  to  the  room,  Pierre  Louis  Avas  entering  by 
another  door,  and  was  evidently  under  the  exciting  influence 
of  wine.  He  regarded  neither  the  groans  of  his  child,  nor  the 
tears  of  its  mother,  but  rallied  the  latter  with  thoughtless 
laughter  on  her  over-solicitude — tried  to  caress  her,  and  when 
she  repulsed  him  with  a  look  of  horror,  he  grew  irritable,  and 
almost  rough  ;  but  soon  his  thoughts  took  another  direction, 
that  speedily  restored  his  good-humour.  He  went  through 
the  room  talking  all  sorts  of  confused  nonsense  ;  laughed,  and 
then  again  spoke  of  the  jolly  trick  they  were  going  to  play, 
by  which  he  would  make  up  for  the  loss  his  journey  had 
caused  him — would  be  enabled  to  purchase  medicine  for  little 
Pierre,  and  a  handsome  dress  for  Jeanne.  As  to  danger, 
there  was  none — it  was  mere  fun— ha,  ha,  ha !  They  had 
settled  the  gabelou — drowned  the  fellow ! — for  once  in  his 
life  the  shrewd  Parisian  was  outwitted. 

"  Drowned  I  In  the  name  of  wonder,  what  are  you  talking 
of  I"  cried  the  poor  wife,  as  she  tried  to  keep  him  in  the  house. 
"Whom  have  you  drowned?  What  scheme  have  you  on 
foot,  Pierre  Louis?" 

"  0  you  little  fool ! "  he  stammered,  "  we  have  only  drowned 
the  gabelou  in  wine,  at  the  child's  wake — what  nonsense  am 
I  talking ! — at  the  marriage  of  our  cousin  the  salt-eater,  I 
should  rather  say.     Yes,  drowned,  so  that  he  shall  mistake 


THE  KOURIGAN.  143 

the  moon  for  a  cheese,  and  stumble  over  his  own  feet — the 
boasting  coxcomb  !  And  then — then  we  '11  play  him  a  trick 
with  the  salt ;  fine  fun  that,  ha,  ha,  ha  !  Will  the  gentleman 
remain  here  or  join  us  ?" 

With  these  words,  he  reeled  out  of  the  house.  Jeanne  mo- 
tioned me  to  follow  him,  and  then — her  heart,  torn  by  con- 
flicting emotions  caused  by  the  condition  of  her  child,  her 
own  over-wrought  feelings,  and  the  terror  inspired  by  the  am- 
biguous expressions  that  had  dropped  from  the  lips  of  her 
half-unconscious  husband — she  sank  down  beside  the  cradle, 
as  if  crushed  beneath  the  load  of  her  varied  and  accumulating 
sorrows. 

What  the  unfortunate  man's  intentions  were,  I  could  not 
well  define,  but  I  followed  him  in  the  vague  hope  of  pre- 
venting any  further  mischief,  or  averting  in  some  measure 
the  results  of  what  he  might  have  previously  engaged  in. 
We  had  not  gone  many  steps,  when  we  met  the  Parisian,  ac- 
companied by  several  young  men,  who  seemed,  evidently 
from  some  bad  intent,  to  be  highly  pleased  with  his  wretched 
condition.  And,  in  good  truth,  a  most  ludicrous  object  he 
was,  as  may  be  supposed  of  a  being  of  his  nature  under  such 
circumstances.  As  he  at  once  attached  himself  to  me,  I  could 
not  avoid  yielding  to  his  request  that  I  should  conduct  him 
home,  and  hoped,  by  so  doing,  to  avert  any  premeditated  harm 
from  accruing  to  him.  The  remainder  of  the  party,  to  my 
surprise,  seemed  quite  satisfied  with  this  arrangement;  and 
we  separated,  after  I  had  urgently  requested  Pierre  Louis  to 
go  home,  and  get  quietly  into  bed. 

They  seemed  to  go,  as  they  said  they  would,  in  the  direc- 
tion of  Pierre  Louis's  house ;  while  I,  as  well  as  I  could, 
dragged  the  ofiBcer  along  to  his  abode,  which  lay  round  the 
comer  of  the  next  street. 

Scarcely,  however,  had  we  gone  out  of  eight  and  hearing 


144  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

of  the  other  party,  than  the  Parisian  suddenly  stopped  his  in- 
coherent talk,  and  snatches  of  tuneless  song,  and  walked  as 
firmly  and  erect  as  possible,  looking  at  me  at  the  same  time 
-with  a  most  extraordinary  expression  of  mingled  gi*avity  and 
fun. 

As  I  was  quite  taken  by  surprise,  and,  in  a  word,  utterly 
confounded — ^perceiving,  also,  that  my  gentleman  was,  on  his 
part,  rather  confused  and  awkward — it  was  no  small  relief  to 
me  when,  after  a  pause  of  a  few  seconds,  he  burst  into  a  loud 
laugh,  exclaiming — 

"  What,  sir,  is  it  possible  that  you  also — even  you  ! — have 
allowed  yourself  to  be  deceived  by  a  clumsy  ruse,  which  was 
merely  intended  for  these  stupid  clowns  ?  Ah  !  we  know  the 
value  of  our  repertorium — '  The  Feigned  Dninkard  ! '  Can  it 
be  that  you  are  unacquainted  with  it  ? — a  charming  play ! 
Then,  '  Upon  the  Knaves,  one  and  all!'  also  by  Scribe — ^but 
no,  let  me  see,  it  is  by  Bayerd,  is  it  not  ?  You  see  I  personate 
both  these  heroes — ^I  combine ;  out  of  two  old  plays  I  produce 
a  new  one  I  But  you  will  grant  that  in  Loth  instances  the  fel- 
lows deserve  a  sound  lesson.  Not  for  the  sake  of  a  grain  or 
two  of  salt — that  I  would  willingly  let  them  have  ;  but  be- 
cause they  wanted  to  mystify  the  Parisian  I  Such  a  thing  is 
contrary  to  the  nature  of  the  Parisians,  thoroughly  antipathic 
— perfectly  incompatible  with  their  temperament.  First,  I 
was,  forsooth,  to  pay  the  reckoning,  and  inebriate  myself  with 
them,  and  then  they  meant  to  make  free  with  the  salt ;  and, 
moreover,  they  would  have  had  the  pleasure  of  laughing  at 
me  to-morrow  ;  but  you  shall  yourself  see,  or  I  am  very  much 
mistaken,  that  this  is  a  trick  I  do  not  envy  them  their  share 
of.  Anything  else  in  the  world  for  me,  but  no  mystification  I 
Then  we  know  that  *  he  who  has  the  last  laugh,  has  the  best 
laugh.'     Your  very  obedient  servant,  sir — au  revoir  !" 

So  saying,  and  making  some  extraordinary  gestures,  in- 


THE  KOURIGAN.  145 

tended  to  betoken  his  prowess  and  daring,  he  hastened  down 
the  street  toward  the  salt-pits. 

The  whole  thing  being  now  quite  clear,  I  judged  it  best  to 
follow  quickly  after  Pierre  Louis,  that,  in  case  of  his  having, 
as  I  hoped,  returned  home,  I  might,  if  possible,  prevent  his 
joining  the  salt-stealers.  But  should  I  not  meet  him  there,  I 
felt  that  I  must  allow  the  affair  to  take  its  course,  as  any  fur- 
ther search  on  my  part  would  be  quite  fruitless,  owing  to  my 
ignorance  of  the  localities.  Eeprehensible  as  the  Parisian's 
trick  was  in  my  eyes — a  trick  which,  instead  of  preventing  a 
crime,  allowed  it  to  be  perpetrated,  in  order  to  satisfy  his  vanity 
by  its  discovery  and  punishment — still,  I  could  not  deny  that 
Pierre  Louis  and  his  friends  would  have  themselves  alone  to 
blame  for  its  consequences.  But  to  say  the  truth,  my  thoughts 
were  chiefly  occupied  by  Jeanne,  as,  with  a  gloomy  presenti- 
ment, I  hastened  towards  her  dwelling,  which,  owing  to  the  ex- 
treme darkness  of  the  night — the  moon  being  concealed  behind 
heavy  masses  of  cloud — I  did  not  reach  without  much  wander- 
ing about,  and  much  loss  of  time.  When,  however,  I  had 
done  so — thanks  to  a  fleeting  moonbeam — and  was  about  to 
enter,  I  descried  a  shadowy  figure  stealing  along  the  garden 
wall,  and  soon  recognised  it  to  be  the  same  that  had  previ- 
ously eluded  me — the  Kouriagn  I" 

This  time  I  was  more  successful ;  escape  would  have  been 
almost  impossible,  as  I  was  within  about  a  hundred  steps  of 
the  figure,  which,  in  a  few  moments,  I  had  seized  by  the 
collar.  He  shrieked ;  and  his  broad  hat  falling  from  his 
head,  revealed  the  wan,  sickly  face  of  a  deformed  young 
peasant,  turned  towards  me  with  a  most  touching  expression 
of  pain  and  terror.  I  shook  him  well,  asking  in  a  sharp  tone 
what  business  he  had  here.  Laying  an  emaciated  finger  on 
his  lips,  and  pointing  at  the  same  time  to  the  casement  where 
the  faint  light  of  Jeanne's  lamp  was  seen  to  glimmer,  he  said, 


146  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDl^E. 

in  a  low  tone,  but  with  singular  emphasis — "  They  call  me 
Gratien!" 

This  entirely  explained  the  source  of  Jeanne's  fears.  On 
further  inquiry,  be  acknowledged  that  it  was  he  who  had  pur- 
sued her  with  his  goblin-like  apparition,  and  had  traced  the 
writing  in  the  sand,  I  asked — perhaps  not  with  the  indul- 
gence that  was  due  to  him  for  her  sake,  but  I  was  in  a  hurry, 
and  felt  all  my  indignation  roused— 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  this,  Gratien  ?  You  love  poor, 
kind-hearted  Jeanne,  and  yet  you  have  terrified  her  beyond 
measure,  and  have  been  the  source  of  bitter  distress  and 
anguish  to  her.  She  supposed  you  to  be  the  Kourigan.  And 
how  will  this  end,  fellow  ?  I  have  a  great  mind  to  put  you 
in  confinement." 

The  wild  pathos  of  his  words  now  plamly  showed  me  that 
his  deep-rooted,  but  hopeless  love  had  been  the  cause  of  his 
wandering  away  from  home,  and  of  the  disordered  state  of  his 
naturally  weak  intellect.  And  yet  who  could  have  the  cruelty 
to  speak  to  him  of  the  utter  folly  of  this  affection — an  affec- 
tion without  any  conscious  aim  or  desire  ?  For  even  in  his 
constant  untiring  efforts  and  artifices  to  be  near  Jeanne  with- 
out her  knowledge  of  his  presence,  attended  as  these  were 
with  the  greatest  difficulty,  he  had  no  conscious  object  in  view. 
It  was  merely  an  attempt  of  a  poor  creature  to  remain  in  that 
element  wherein  alone  it  could  exist.  The  longer  he  spoke, 
the  more  puzzled  I  became  as  to  what  I  should  do  with  him  ; 
burning  with  impatience  as  I  was  all  the  while  to  know  some 
further  particulars  about  Jeanne,  her  child,  and  Pierre  Ijouis. 
However,  as  to  the  latter,  I  comforted  myself  with  the  assur- 
ance that  he  must  be  at  home,  and  could  not  leave  it  without 
my  knowledge. 

While  I  was  making  an  effort  to  persuade  Gratien  to  go 
quietly  home,  the  report  of  a  gun  broke  upon  the  stillness  of 


THE  KOUEIGAN.  147 

the  night,  and  was  qiiickly  succeeded  by  another.  Eelaxing 
nay  grasp  of  the  unhappy  fellow,  I  hastened  in  the  direction 
from  whence  the  shot  proceeded,  under  a  firm  conviction  that 
some  heavy  calamity  had  befallen  Jeanne.  As  I  passed  along, 
windows  and  doors  were  thrown  open  on  all  sides ;  men  rushed 
into  the  street,  and  many  of  them  ran  in  the  same  direction  as 
myself ;  women  looked  out  of  the  windows,  uttering  words  of 
inquiry  and  lamentation ;  and  there  was  a  loud  and  incessant 
barking  of  dogs.  We  soon  heard  the  noisy  buzz  of  mingled 
voices  as  they  approached,  and  on  turning  a  corner,  we  saw  a 
crowd  of  people  coming  up  from  the  shore,  collected  round 
some  men,  who  bore  along  either  a  severely  wounded  or  life- 
less body.  I  distinguished  Pierre  Louis's  name,  and  immedi- 
ately turned,  in  order,  if  possible,  to  prepare  Jeanne  for  the 
fearful  tidings.  Hoping  to  gain  ground  upon  the  party,  I 
made  a  short  cut  through  the  gardens,  but  again  I  missed 
my  way,  and  arrived  at  the  back  entrance  just  in  time  to  see 
them  carrying  the  bleeding  corpse  in  through  the  front-door 
of  the  room  where  Jeanne  sat  beside  the  cradle,  her  thoughts 
so  wholly  engrossed  with  her  child,  that  she  had  heard  nothing 
of  all  the  stir  and  tumult  without.  She  was  seated  with  her 
back  to  the  door,  but  as  the  men  entered,  she  turned  quickly 
round,  and  her  eye  at  once  fell  upon  the  drooped  and  bleed- 
ing head  of  her  husband,  upon  which  the  lamp  cast  a  sickly 
gleam. 

A  moment  passed,  which  no  human  being  might  venture  to 
describe.  When  I  had  in  a  measure  recovered  my  self-com- 
mand, 1  saw  the  poor  wife  kneeling  beside  the  body  ;  the  men 
who  stood  round  were  trembling  violently.  She  carefully 
wiped  the  blood  from  the  ashy-pale  brow,  addressed  him  in 
terms  of  the  most  plaintive  tenderness — urgently  entreated 
him  to  speak  even  one  word  to  her — to  recognise  his  own  wife 
— not,  not  to  leave  her;  in  a  word,  she  seemed  so  little  to 


148  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDEE. 

comprehend  the  terrible  reality,  that  for  a  moment  I  feared 
lest  the  shock  had  been  too  great  for  her  mind  to  sustain  un- 
injured. Gradually,  however,  she  seemed  to  become  aware  of 
the  uselessness  of  her  exertions.  Starting  up,  she  extended 
her  blood-stained  hands  towards  us,  and  gazed  round  with  an 
imploring,  helpless,  and  inquiring  look  ;  at  length  she  slowly 
faltered  out — 

"  Say,  say — sure  he  is  not  dead  ?  He  cannot  be  dead ! — 
the  doctor  must  know.     Where  is  the  doctor?" 

She  was  told  that  the  doctor  would  be  here  directly  ;  and  I 
approached  to  try  to  withdraw  her  from  the  body.  But  my 
movement,  and  a  few  words  which  accompanied  it,  appeared 
suddenly  to  reveal  the  full  truth.  Falling  down  again  beside 
her  lifeless  husband,  she  laid  his  head  upon  her  knee,  and 
gazed  at  it  with  a  look  of  agonizing  wo,  while  her  tears  fell 
in  torrents  upon  his  face,  and  mingled  with  his  blood.  Her 
lamentations  were  so  heart-rending,  that  we  shrank  back  in- 
stinctively ;  none  dared  venture  to  obtrude  with  weak  words 
of  human  consolation  upon  such  sorrow  as  hers.  We  hoped, 
indeed,  that  the  extreme  violence  of  her  grief  would  soon  wear 
itself  out ;  but  it  seemed  much  more  likely  that  the  intensity 
of  her  feelings  must  over-tax  her  physical  powers,  and  that  the 
very  stream  of  life  would  exhaust  itself  in  this  overwhelming 
flood.  Gradually  her  words,  her  voice,  her  entire  manner  be- 
came more  and  more  wild  ;  and  her  occasional  peals  of  con- 
vulsive laughter  sounded  far  more  dreadful  than  her  lament- 
ations had  done.  I  was  quite  convinced  that  we  should  soon 
have  to  restrain  a  maniac.  At  length,  she  grew  more  calm 
while  kneeling  beside  the  corpse,  herself  like  a  marble  figure, 
with  hands  tightly  clenched  ;  but  it  was  the  calmness  of  ebb- 
ing reason — the  vacant  look,  the  low  piteous  wail,  the  whis- 
pered unconnected  words,  that  at  last  died  away,  leaving 
only  the  motion  of  the  lips— all  told  the  fearful  truth. 


THE  KOURIGAN.  149 

These  moments  of  horror-tlirilling  stillness  were  suddenly 
interrupted  by  a  soft  plaintive  cry — the  little  one  wanted  his 
mother.  This  cry  broke  through  the  almost  torpid  grief  of 
the  sufferer,  recalled  her  fast-fleeting  consciousness,  and  pre- 
served her  intellect — her  life.  She  turned  quickly  round. 
Little  Pierre  had  raised  himself  up  in  his  cradle,  and,  smiling 
at  his  mother  through  his  tears,  stretched  out  his  hands,  as  if 
imploring  her  help. 

Uttering  a  cry  of  unspeakable  pathos,  which  seemed  to 
come  from  the  inmost  depths  of  her  soul,  she  sprang  up,  and 
darting  to  the  cradle,  caught  up  her  child  with  the  tenderest 
care,  and  clasped  it  to  her  heart,  in  a  loving  embrace.  None 
of  the  men  who  stood  by  could  refrain  from  tears  ;  it  was  as 
though  the  sweet  infantine  voice  had  broken  the  spell  of 
horror  that  rested  upon  each. 

At  this  moment,  the  doctor  entered  the  room  :  he  was  led 
over  to  Pierre  Louis,  whom  we  had  laid  upon  his  bed.  His 
business  there  was  soon  over.  He  placed  his  hand  upon  the 
heart,  held  a  mirror  before  the  mouth,  then  with  an  ominous 
shake  of  his  head,  and  shrug  of  his  shoulders,  he  drew  the 
coverlet  over  the  blood-stained  head.  Jeanne's  eager  eye 
narrowly  watched  the  physician,  and  understood  too  well  his 
significant  gestures.  She  staggered  for  a  moment.  I  sprang 
over  to  support  her ;  but  the  child  had  again  stirred,  and 
cried  for  his  mother.  With  a  desperate  effort  she  summoned 
up  all  her  strength,  seized  the  doctor's  hand,  and,  drawing 
him  towards  the  cradle,  awaited  his  opinion  with  fixed  look 
and  folded  hands.  He  was  a  quiet,  elderly,  sensible,  and 
skilful  man.  After  having  carefully  examined  the  child,  he 
put  some  questions  to  its  mother,  which  she  answered  in  a 
concise  and  summary  manner,  like  a  soldier  upon  duty. 

"  The  child  is  out  of  danger,"  he  said  at  length. 

"  God  be  praised  for  ever  and  ever !"  cried  Jeanne,  as  she 


150  BRITTANY  AND  I.A  VENDING. 

fell  on  lier  knees  beside  the  cradle,  and  softly  breathed  a 
prayer  over  her  little  oie,  without  taking  any  farther  notice 
of  what  was  passing  around. 

While  the  doctor  remained  to  write  a  prescription,  we  all 
left  the  house,  and  went  our  several  ways.  One  of  the  men 
confirmed,  in  a  few  words,  my  previous  supposition.  He  told 
me  that  Pierre  Louis,  and  some  other  young  fellows,  who 
were  noted  salt-smugglers,  had  taken  advantage  of  the 
Parisian's  supposed  state  of  intoxication  to  carry  off  some 
loads  of  salt,  that  were  under  his  care  till  the  requisite  duty 
should  be  paid.  But  this  officer  had  awaited  them  at  his 
post,  and  when  on  repeated  challenges,  they  neither  answered 
nor  desisted  from  their  illegal  undertaking,  he  and  one  of  his 
men  fired.  His  ball  struck  Pierre  Louis,  who  headed  the 
party,  and  on  receiving  the  woimd  he  leaped  up  in  the  air, 
and  then  fell  down  without  uttering  a  sound. 

Two  days  after,  he  was  laid  in  his  grave.  I,  in  company 
with  the  entire  population  of  Saille,  attended  the  remains  of 
this  poor  fellow  to  his  long  home.  It  was  a  long  and  solemn 
procession  of  men  and  women  attired  in  their  Sunday  dresses, 
and  walking  two  abreast.  Last  of  all  followed  Gi'atien,  his 
tattered  garments  all  besmeared  with  the  red  earth  of  the 
moor,  his  head  drooping  low,  and  his  long  dishevelled  hair 
hanging  over  his  face.  He  did  not  venture  within  the  church- 
yard, but  knelt  down  outside ;  and  as  soon  as  the  blessing  was 
pronounced,  and  the  clay  about  to  be  shovelled  over  the  coffin, 
he  started  up,  and  quickly  disappeared  behind  the  church. 

I  went  directly  to  see  Jeanne.  Her  head  was  laid  upon 
the  pillow  beside  her  infant's,  and  she  was  quietly  weeping. 
The  child  played  with  her  hair,  while  her  thick-falling  tears 
bedewed  his  little  hands.  Then  he  smiled  sweetly  at  her, 
and  tried  by  all  kinds  of  gentle  tones  to  gain  her  attention. 
He  appeared  to  be  making  a  rapid  recovery.     I  retired  with- 


THE  KOURIGAN.  .  151 

out  exchanging  a  word  'witli  Jeanne,  by  "whom  I  was  quite 
unobserved. 

I  spent  the  succeeding  weeks  in  making  excursions  into 
the  interior  of  the  country,  and  to  the  adjoining  islands.  On 
my  return  to  Saille,  I  learned  that  Jeanne,  on  her  child's 
perfect  restoration  to  health,  had  gone  to  reside  with  her 
guardian  at  her  early  home.  Whilst  on  a  walking  excursion 
in  that  neighbourhood,  I  made  a  detour  in  order  to  pay  a  fare- 
well visit  to  the  widow.  As  I  was  descending  a  hill,  however, 
at  a  short  distance  I  recognised  Jeanne  seated  on  a  mule, 
dressed  in  deep  mourning,  her  child  placed  before  her,  retiim- 
ing  home  by  the  same  road  that  we  had  formerly  travelled 
together.  Gratien  held  the  bridle  and  carefully  led  the  mule, 
occasionally  turning  round  towards  the  tearless,  melancholy, 
yet  submissive  countenance  of  her  who  had  suffered  so  deeply 
and  lost  so  much  before  returning  to  his  care,  so  far  at  least 
as  the  poor  imbecile  creature  was  capable  of  taking  care  of 
any  one.  I  could  not  prevail  upon  myself  to  go  to  meet  and 
take  leave  of  her,  but,  deeply  affected  by  the  scene,  I  bent 
my  steps  homewards. 

The  sky  was  clear  and  cloudless,  occasionally  a  soft  breeze 
conveyed  from  afar  the  mournful  murmur  of  the  sea.  Some 
maidens'  sweet  voices  were  singing,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
thicket,  the  plaintive  melody  of  one  of  Brittany's  weddlng- 
Bongs. 


THE  WHITE  BOAT. 


The  traveller  who  visits  La  Vendee,  with  the  stirring 
memory  of  its  gigantic  struggle  of  loyalty  versus  Eevolution 
fresh  in  his  mind,  and  looks  on  it  as  the  land  that,  in  the 
short  space  of  three  years,  became  the  grave  of  five  Eepuhlican 
armies,  as  well  as  of  the  greater  proportion  of  its  own  heroic 
population,  and  was  thus  converted  into  a  vast  and  blood- 
steeped  wilderness  of  smoking  ruins — would  naturally  expect 
to  find  in  the  inhabitants  a  people  gloomy  and  daring,  proud, 
impetuous,  and  warlike. 

To  his  astonishment,  he  sees  himself  surrounded  by  a  race 
whose  character  is  in  every  respect  the  reverse  of  this — quiet, 
thoughtful,  taciturn  almost  to  dulness,  and  whose  might,  like 
that  of  their  powerful  yoked  oxen,  slumbers  and  asks  but  for 
repose.  Such  is  the  case  especially  in  the  hill-country  of 
La  Vendee  proper,  the  region  of  the  pure  Pictish  blood ;  the 
people  of  the  plain-country  bordering  on  old  Anjou,  are  dis- 
tinguished by  greater  vivacity  and  friendliness. 

It  is  in  contemplating  this  aspect  of  the  Vendean  charac- 
ter, that  we  learn  to  estimate  the  power  of  that  deadly  grasp 


154  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDEE. 

wHch  the  bold  hand  of  Eevolution  must  have  laid  on  the  in- 
nermost sanctuary  of  popular  feeling,  to  provoke  an  outburst 
of  resistance,  so  vigorous  and  so  long  sustained. 

But  if  the  physiognomy  of  the  Vendeans  be  marked  by  a 
general  sameness,  nothing  can  be  more  varied  than  the  aspect 
of  their  country.  The  eastern  shore  is  indeed  barren,  dark, 
and  gloomy  ;  but  to  the  north,  stretches  a  long  tract  of  un- 
dulating country,  rich  in  golden  meadows  and  fertile  fields, 
and  dotted  with  groups  of  noble  forest  trees,  in  whose  shadow 
nestles  many  an  orchard-circled  chateau  and  peaceful  hamlet, 
while  here  and  there  may  be  seen  a  large  and  populous  village 
with  spire  pointing  to  the  skies.  The  high  hedges  and  deep 
embowered  lanes,  turned  to  such  good  account  in  the  burgher 
struggles  of  the  Chouan  warfare,  are  still  the  peculiar  and  dis- 
tinctive characteristics  of  the  scene.  This  is,  indeed,  the 
Boccage ;  and  wherever  there  is  an  opening,  wide  tracts  of 
heath  are  seen,  offering  the  strongest  and  most  picturesque 
contrast  by  the  bright  blossoms  of  the  yellow  furze,  and  the 
purple  glow  of  the  heath-flower,  to  the  solemn  edging  of  green 
by  which  they  are  bordered.  Totally  different  is  the  appear- 
ance of  La  Vendee  proper — a  long  and  boundless  plain  of 
waving  corn,  almost  without  trees,  except  where  some  nar- 
row strip  of  orchard-ground  points  to  the  neighbourhood  of 
chateau  or  village.  No  sooner  is  the  golden  harvest  brought 
in,  than  the  waste  and  dreary  stubble  lands  are  covered  with 
loads  of  lime,  giving  to  them,  in  the  distance,  the  appearance 
of  an  interminable  battle-field  strewn  with  bleaching  bones. 

Proceeding  onward  towards  the  south,  to  the  marshes — the 
Marais,  fis  it  is  called — we  again  find  ourselves  in  a  new 
world.  The  land  here  shows,  like  an  accident,  an  exception 
— a  creation  of  art,  a  sort  of  rustic  Venice.  The  corn  and 
the  fruits  seem  to  ripen  on  piles,  and  the  flocks  to  be  grazing 
on  floating  pastures.     Ever  since  the  sixteenth  century,  efforts 


THE  WHITE  BOAT.  155 

have  been  made  to  reclaim  tracts  of  this  marsh  by  drainage  on 
the  Dutch  plan,  so  that  the  district  should  rather  have  been 
called  Little  Holland  than  "  Little  Poitou,"  as  it  is.  Some 
business  connected  with  one  of  these  recently  drained  tracts, 
gave  me  the  long-desired  opportunity  of  seeing  something  of 
the  mode  of  life  of  the  Cabanneers — the  name  by  which  the 
inhabitants  of  the  reclaimed  lands  are  known,  as  Hutters  is 
that  appropriated  to  the  dwellers  in  the  marsh. 

I  had  made  an  appointment  with  Guillaume  Blaisot,  the 
farmer  witb  whom  my  business  was  to  be  transacted,  to  meet 
him  at  Marans,  at  the  mouth  of  the  Sevre,  opposite  to  the 
Isle  of  Rhe,  in  Pertuis-Poitou.  I  reached  Maillepais,  after  a 
very  uncomfortable  journey,  by  the  Diligence,  hoping  to  pro- 
ceed by  water. 

As  I  was  waiting  at  the  door  of  the  little  inn  for  the  arrival 
of  the  boat  that  mine  host  had  promised  me,  I  perceived  an 
old  acquaintance  approaching,  whom,  by  his  little  waxcloth 
hat  and  his  wooden  leg,  I  had  at  once  recognised  as  Maitre 
Berand,  better  known  as  Fait-tout.  Berand  was  one  of  those 
equivocal  traders  who  get  a  livelihood  by  various  nameless 
handicrafts,  and  who,  in  common  parlance,  are  said  to  live 
by  their  wits.  He  now  assured  me  that  business  called  him 
in  the  direction  in  which  I  was  going.  I  invited  him  to 
embark  with  me  in  the  boat,  which  at  that  moment  came 
alongside.  He  thankfully  accepted  my  invitation,  and  I  thus 
secured  a  companion,  who,  if  not  altogether  trustworthy,  was 
at  least  well  acquainted  with  the  country  and  its  inhabitants, 
and  who  was,  moreover,  himself  an  interesting  subject  for  my 
observation.  • 

Immediately  on  leaving  Maillepais,  we  found  ourselves  in 
the  district  familiarly  known  as  le  Marais  Mouille,  and  a 
wonderful  spectacle  it  presented.  As  far  as  the  eye  could 
reach,  it  seemed  as  it  Avere  a  water-landscape  whereon  num- 


156  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

berless  islets,  fringed  with  willows  and  ivy,  were  floating ;  now 
and  then  we  passed  a  larger  one,  on  which  hemp  and  flax  were 
cultivated.  On  the  most  elevated  point  of  these  little  islands 
stand  the  solitary  dwellings  of  the  hutters  ;  they  are  of  plaited 
wicker- work,  and  look  like  so  many  beehives.  They  have 
neither  window  nor  chimney,  and  the  door  appears  too  low  for  a 
full-grown  man  to  enter  without  stooping.  We  could  generally 
distinguish  a  fire  flickering  on  the  hearth,  and  sending  its 
smoke  through  all  the  interstices  of  the  basket-work.  The 
older  huts  are  often  covered  with  a  mass  of  vegetation  ;  and 
not  unfrequently  the  willow-wands  woven  into  the  dwelling, 
bud  and  sprout,  and  form  a  thick  green  trellis-work  of  leafy 
branches  around  the  hut.  The  people  find  their  food  in  the 
waters  by  which  they  are  surrounded,  the  neighbouring  towns 
ofiering  a  ready  market  for  their  fish  and  ducks.  In  winter, 
when  the  waters  often  rise  to  the  level  of  their  dwellings,  the 
poor  people  are  fot-ced  to  take  refuge,  with  their  wives  and 
children,  in  their  boats,  which  are  kept  by  them,  ready  for  such 
emergencies.  In  these,  they  frequently  pass  long  days  and 
nights,  till  the  floods  are  abated. 

Our  passage  among  the  islets  was  much  retarded  by  the 
tangled  masses  of  the  water-lily,  yellow  and  white,  the  leaves  of 
which  were  thickly  spread  over  the  surface  ;  and  our  approach 
not  unfrequently  scared  whole  flocks  of  wild  ducks  and  other 
water-fowl  from  their  shelter,  and  sent  them  screaming  and 
cackling  over  our  heads. 

The  hutters  are  said,  by  the  proprietors  on  the  coast,  to  have 
veiy  inadequate  perceptions  and  very  short  memories  of  the 
distinction  between  meum  and  tuum.  ]^y  companion,  how- 
ever, soon  proved  that  this  confusion  of  ideas  was  not  peculiar 
to  the  islanders.  Whenever  he  saw  a  snare  hanging  from  a 
willow,  he  hastened  to  the  spot ;  if  the  jar  of  a  leech-gatherer 
were  left  on  the  ground,  he  scrupled  not  to  empty  it  into  his 


THE  WHITE  BOAT.  157 

own ;  and  when  I  asked  if  his  friends  on  the  islands  were  thus 
solicitous  to  provide  for  his  wants,  he  laughed,  and  said  that 
what  was  taken  from  a  hntter  was  only  indemnification  ;  for 
that  when  he  went  round  the  islands  with  his  pack,  the  wives 
and  maidens  were  not  particular  in  the  matter  of  needles  and 
ribhons — a  cross  made  at  the  back  of  any  article  going  in 
evidence  that  it  was  not  stolen. 

As  I  wished  to  see  the  interior  of  one  of  these  huts,  we 
drew  towards  the  shore,  and  I  landed.  The  inside  was  in- 
crusted  with  a  black  and  shining  coating  of  soot.  In  the 
dusky  background,  two  cows  were  lying  down,  and  chewing 
the  cud  at  their  ease  before  a  sort  of  rough  crib.  This  was 
the  only  piece  of  furniture  in  the  hut,  with  the  exception  of  a 
pair  of  earthen  pitchers,  a  clumsy  stool,  and  a  hurdle  covered 
with  a  layer  of  moss ;  on  this  lay  a  woman  whose  appearance 
showed  her  to  be  suffering  from  the  biliary  fever  so  common 
in  this  moist  and  foetid  atmosphere.  To  our  words  of  comfort 
she  at  first  made  no  reply,  but  at  length,  rousing  herself, 
she  said — 

*'  What  good  can  anything  do  me  ?  I  have  seen  the  White 
Boat  I     All  I  want  is  the  priest." 

These  words  had  evidently  a  startling  effect,  not  only  on 
the  sailor  who  had  accompanied  us,  but  on  our  friend  Fait- 
tout,  notwithstanding  his  habitual  readiness  to  parade  his 
scepticism. 

"  '  The  White  Boat !'  "  exclaimed  both  together,  in  a  half 
whisper,  at  the  same  time  looking  towards  the  shore. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  continued  the  sick  woman,  with  feverish  ex- 
citement ;  "  I  was  coming  with  a  bundle  of  willows  from  the 
other  side  of  the  island,  and  there,  gliding  noiselessly  through 
the  channel,  I  saw  the  death-boat,  with  the  yellow  dwarf 
seated  at  the  helm ;  and  as  I  passed,  I  heard  him  cough  and 
groan ;  I  felt  his  poison  breath   upon  me,  and  fell   to  the 


158  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

ground.  My  husband  found  me  lying,  and  brought  me 
home,  and  I  have  never  raised  my  head  since,  and  never 
shall." 

I  endeavoured  to  soothe  the  poor  woman,  and  to  explain 
the  thing  away  as  an  optical  delusion — but  all  in  vain  ;  she 
stared  wildly  into  the  darkness,  and  my  companions  slipped 
quietly  away ;  I  myself  felt  a  sort  of  indefinable  dread,  thus 
left  alone  in  the  dusky  hut  with  the  dying  woman,  and  has- 
tened into  the  air. 

When  we  got  back  to  the  boat,  our  conversation  was  in 
monosyllables ;  and,  in  order  to  set  it  agoing,  I  made  some 
inquiries  respecting  the  young  Blaisot  whom  I  was  to  meet  at 
Marans.  At  the  sound  of  his  name,  Fait-tout  started  from  his 
reverie,  but  made  as  though  he  had  not  heard  me  ;  and  called 
my  attention  to  the  great  number  of  boats  that  were  lying  in 
a  little  bay  which  we  wei'e  then  crossing.  It  was  no  uncom- 
mon sight,  but  he  wished  to  divert  me  from  my  subject. 

We  soon  came  alongside  of  an  embankment,  on  which  we 
rather  heard  than  saw  some  travellers — for  the  view  was  en- 
tirely obstructed  by  a  low  growth  of  willows  and  alders.  At 
intervals,  the  plaintive  monotonous  chant  of  some  shepherds 
broke  upon  the  ear ;  they  were  singing  one  of  those  Christmas 
carols  [Hymnes  de  Noel,  or  iYaw),  wherein  the  shepherds  of 
Poitou  celebrate  the  glad  tidings  that  it  was  given  to  the 
shepherds  of  Palestine  to  hear  first.  One  of  them,  seated  on 
a  projection  of  the  dyke,  with  folded  hands  and  head  reverently 
inclined,  closed  the  strain  in  the  following  words — 

"  Or  prion  tous  &  gSniel 
Jesus  Christ  d'amour  doucette, 
Qu'il  nous  fusse  bonne  acceil, 
£t  que  notre  pais  soit  faite 
Au  grein  jour,  quen  sonnera  la  trompette, 
Qu'ein  sein  paradis  nous  mette 
Au  royaume  paternau, 

Nau!  oau!"* 


THE  WHITE  BOAT.  169 

We  did  not  reacli  Marans  till  late  in  the  evening,  and  there 
were  no  tidings  of  Blaisot  at  the  inn.  To  my  repeated  and 
urgent  inquiries,  the  host  replied  with  a  counter-question — 

"  Do  you  mean  the  old  Jerome  Blaisot  ?" 

"  No ;  the  question  now  is  of  his  son,  Guillaume,"  said 
Fait-tout,  answering  for  me,  and  with  singular  emphasis. 

"  The  great  Guillaume  !"  repeated  the  man,  stepping  back 
in  astonishment. 

"  And  why  not?"  I  rejoined  shai*ply.  "  I  have  very  good 
grounds  for  expecting  him,  having  made  an  appointment  with 
him  to  take  charge  of  a  business  which  is  likely  to  be  as  ad- 
vantageous to  him  as  to  me.  I  should  rather  ask  what  reason 
he  can  have  for  staying  away." 

"  Nay,"  replied  mine  host  with  some  hesitation,  "  how  can 
any  third  person  assign  reasons  for  another  ?  To-morrow  is 
our  market-day,  and  there  will  surely  be  some  of  Blaisot's 
people  in  the  town  ; — you  can  ask  them,  sir,  any  questions  you 
please." 

'■'■Ask,  indeed  !"  muttered  Fait-tout  in  a  mocking  tone,  as 
I  moved  away  half  satisfied,  and  the  host  devoted  himself  with 
obsequious  civility  to  some  freshly-arrived  guests. 

Marans  is  now  the  principal  port  of  La  Vendee,  and  the 
depot  of  the  export  fisheries,  and  I  was  early  awakened  by 
the  bustle  of  the  market.  It  was  thronged  with  butters, 
bringing  in  the  rich  spoils  of  the  fishing  and  the  chase,  as  well 
as  by  Cabanneers,  and  peasants  from  the  plain ;  the  former 
with  wool  and  flax,  the  latter  with  heavy  loads  of  corn  and 
wood,  in  ponderoTis  waggons  drawn  by  six  yoke  of  oxen. 
Still,  all  my  inquiries  for  Blaisot  were  unavailing ;  and  the 
evident  shyness  in  answering — the  frequent  assumption  of 
stupidity,  as  though  they  could  not  understand  me,  raised  my 
previous  uneasiness  to  the  highest  pitch. 

On  my  return  to  the  inn,  I  found  Berand  the  centre  of 


160  BKITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

a  wondering  circle,  and  prosecuting  one  of  the  thousand 
branches  of  his  vocation.  He  was  etching  an  allegorical 
decoration  on  the  arm  of  a  young  sailor,  and  had  been  profuse 
in  sentimental  verses  and  allusions ;  he  now  showed  me  his 
work  with  evident  self-complacency. 

"  You  see  that  it  is  all  that  could  be  wished,"  he  said. 
"  Le  Fier-gas  could  desire  nothing  better,  were  he  the  king 
himself." 

"  Ay,"  rejoined  the  young  man,  whose  cognomen  he  had 
given,  "for  a  bright  half-dollar  one  has  a  right  to  expect 
something." 

"  And  I  have  accordingly  given  you  the  *  best  article,'  my 
son,"  said  the  artificer.  "  The  altar  of  love,  religion — death 
and  the  Eoyal  flower  ;  what  could  you  have  more  ?  You  and 
le  Bien-nomme,  you  are  the  only  ones  to  whom  such  luck  has 
fallen." 

"  Indeed,"  replied  the  young  man,  shaking  his  head  em- 
phatically ;  "  then  I  am  the  only  one,  for  le  Bien-nomme  lies 
deep  beneath  the  water  ! " 

"  What  is  that  you  are  saying  ?" 

"  It  is  so,  indeed,"  said  another  of  the  bystanders ;  "  his 
body  has  never  been  seen,  but  his  boat  was  found  keel  up- 
ward." 

"  No  one  knows  how  it  happened,"  observed  a  third. 
"  Some  say  that  he  met  the  Lady  of  the  Pool !" 

"  Who  is  that?"  said  I,  attracted  rather  by  the  expression, 
and  by  the  manner  of  the  speaker,  than  by  the  fact  itself. 

"Why,  the  Lady  of  the  Pool  is  she  who  entangles  the 
boats  in  her  long  tresses,  and  so  drags  them  down  into  the 
deep." 

I  now  took  counsel  with  mine  host,  and  he  advised  rae  to 
proceed  in  his  conveyance  to  the  cottage  of  the  Blaisots,  which, 
he  said,  was  distant  about  a  mile  and  a  half.     Fait-tout  would 


THE  WHITE  BOAT.  161 

be  my  conductor,  as  he  was  at  home,  and  had  business  every- 
where. 

The  matter  was  soon  arranged,  and  in  half  an  hour  Berand 
and  I  were  placed  side  by  side  in  the  little  car,  with  a  board 
for  our  seat.  My  guide  had  plied  the  flask  so  deeply  in  honour 
of  his  last  performance,  that  it  was  not  without  hesitation  that 
I  committed  the  reins  to  his  hand. 

We  soon  came  in  sight  of  the  long  tract  of  land  reclaimed 
from  the  waters.  Canals,  small  and  great,  intersected  it  in 
every  direction,  and  emptied  themselves  by  an  infinity  of 
sluices  into  ponds  varying  in  size.  It  was  surrounded  by  a 
deep  ditch,  bordered  for  the  most  part  with  oaks.  The  nu- 
merous proprietors  and  farmers  form  a  corporation  for  the 
management  of  the  drainage ;  and  their  simple  and  appro- 
priate regulations  have  secured  to  them  a  large  measure  of 
independence,  amid  the  mechanism  of  modern  centralization, 
and  the  despotism  of  modem  liberality. 

The  rich  alluvial  soil  requires  no  manuring.  Indeed,  that 
it  was  covered  by  the  sea  within  the  historical  period,  is 
proved  by  the  frequent  discovery  of  ships'  keels,  and  other 
fragments,  as  well  as  by  the  appearance  of  lofty  oyster-banks 
here  and  there.  The  fallow  fields  afford  a  generous  pasturage 
to  numerous  herds  of  oxen,  and  to  a  breed  of  the  heavy  horses 
of  the  country. 

The  sun  was  declining,  and  the  simple  but  varied  land- 
scape was  bathed  in  rosy  light — all  the  more  beautiful  from 
its  contrast  with  the  silvery  vapour  that  began  to  rise  from 
the  lower  grounds,  and  that  mingled  with,  and  broke  it  into  a 
thousand  rays,  as  it  fell  on  the  pools  and  the  broad  canals. 
At  sunset  we  reached  Jerome  Blaisot's  cottage — one  of  a 
somewhat  different  construction  to  the  greater  part  of  those 
we  had  previously  seen. 

In  a  field  by  the  roadside,  I  saw  an  old  man  and  a  child 


162  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VEND:^E. 

keeping  sheep.  The  former  had  a  sheepskin  coat  over  his 
shoulders,  and  was  resting  his  chin  npon  his  staff  and  looking 
attentively  at  us,  A  black  sheep  of  unusual  size  trotted 
familiarly  by  his  side  with  a  familiarity  that  evinced  a  con- 
nexion of  a  peculiar  nature  between  them. 

"  There  is  old  Jacques  the  shepherd,  and  his  Flemish 
sheep,"  said  my  guide,  with  a  friendly  greeting  to  the  old 
man,  "  The  creature  gives  three  times  as  much  wool  as  any 
other  sheep,  and  as  much  milk  besides  as  three  goats ;  it  be- 
longs to  him  as  the  chief  shepherd," 

"Ay,  ay,"  responded  the  old  man,  in  reply  to  the  last 
words,  "  it  is  with  this  beast  as  with  the  King  of  France, 
who  never  dies :  when  his  time  is  ovit,  the  next  best  takes  his 
place.  That  is  my  right,  is  it  not,  La  Bien-gagnee?"  he 
added,  affectionately  stroking  his  favourite,  which  seemed 
conscious  of  deserving  the  name. 

"  At  them !  at  them,  Flandrine  ! "  said  the  old  man  sud- 
denly, and  in  a  half  whisper,  to  his  attendant ;  and  in  a  mo- 
ment the  sensible  creature  set  off,  and  soon  collected  the 
straying  sheep  together,  showing  as  much  zeal  as  discretion 
in  the  conduct  of  the  affair, 

"How  have  you  been  able  to  teach  the  creature  this?" 
said  I,  by  way  of  beginning  a  conversation  with  the  old  man, 

"Well,  then,"  he  replied  half  musing,  "the  brute  creatures 
only  need  to  be  reminded,  you  see.  There  is  in  every  beast 
some  trace  of  its  great  Creator ;  only  for  the  most  part  we 
tease  or  worry  this  out  of  them,  according  to  our  selfish  will. 
— You  see,  sir,"  he  continued,  turning  directly  towards  me, 
"  we  are  always  forgetting  that  the  shepherd  is  here  for  the 
sake  of  the  sheep,  and  not  the  sheep  on  account  of  the  shep- 
herd." 

"And  instinct  is  powerful,"  I  added,  without  bestowing 
much  thought  on  the  subject. 


THE  WHITE  BOAT.  163 

"  And  so,  instinct  is  the  name  the  gentry  give  it  ?  Well, 
the  name  is  of  no  great  consequence.  The  sheep,  like  all 
the  brutes  that  remember  the  earthly  paradise,  has  a  special 
gift.  You  cannot  find  it  out  by  thiuking,  but  my  Bien-gagaee 
knows  whether  good  or  ill  luck  is  to  befal  us  in  the  day." 

"  Then  you  may  rest  in  peace,  my  friend,"  cried  my  con- 
ductor, "  for  the  brute  has  a  noble  appetite,  and  that  is  the 
best  sign  for  man  or  beast,  all  the  world  over.  And  now,  let 
your  youngster  show  the  gentleman  the  way  to  Blaisot's,  for 
I  want  to  go  in  a  contrary  direction.  Au  revoir,  sirl"  And 
so  saying,  my  mysterious  but  pleasant  companion  alighted, 
and  disappeared  at  once  behind  the  hedge.  The  youngster, 
liowever,  sprang  into  the  vacant  seat,  and  carefully  drove  the 
car  along  the  narrow,  miry  road,  to  the  comfortable  dwelling 
of  the  Blaisots. 

As  we  were  approaching,  an  elderly  man  came  out,  and 
hastily  advanced  to  meet  us.  But  when  he  got  near  enough 
to  distinguish  our  features  he  suddenly  stopped,  and  without 
either  listening  to  or  answering  us,  kept  calling  aloud  "  Lou- 
bette!  Loubette!"  till  a  young  maiden  stepped  over  the 
threshold,  whom  at  first  I  only  remarked  for  her  extreme 
plainness,  and  her  tall,  ungainly  form.  When  I  had  seen 
her  more  nearly,  I  became  conscious  of  a  look  of  energy  and 
intelligence  in  the  depths  of  her  large  gray  eyes,  that  glim- 
mered through  the  dark  lashes  like  stars  through  the  mist. 

My  appearance  seemed  rather  to  surprise  than  to  alarm  her. 
With  an  air  of  mingled  simplicity  and  good  breeding,  she  in- 
vited me  to  enter.  I  found  that  Fait-tout  had  been  right  in 
advising  me  to  keep  to  Loubette  :  she  was  evidently  the  head 
of  the  house.  On  my  asking  for  her  brother,  the  father 
uttered  an  exclamation  ;  but  a  warning  Took  from  her  restored 
his  composure. 

"  You  are,  then,  the  gentleman  who  sent  the  letter  that  we 


164  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

gave  back  to  the  postman  two  days  ago?"  said  Loubette 
quietly,  but  with  a  penetrating  glance. 

"Gave  back  again!"  I  repeated;  "and  why  did  you  do 
that?" 

"  Because  he  to  whom  it  was  addressed  is  not  in  the  coun- 
try-." 

"  Not  to  be  found  in  all  Little  Poitou  ! "  exclaimed  the  old 
man. 

"But  you  know  where  he  is,"  I  rejoined;  "you  could  have 
given  the  postman  the  necessary  instructions." 

"We  know  nothing,"  cried  the  father;  "and  he  who  says 
otherwise  is  no  friend  of  ours.  The  tall  Guillaume  is  away 
on  his  own  errand,  without  either  consulting  or  revealing  it 
to  us, — and  this  I  do  solemnly  aver." 

"  Yes,  yes,  father,"  inten-upted  the  maiden;  "you  see  that 
the  gentleman  meant  well  by  my  brother,  and  why  then 
should  you  make  a  disturbance,  or  deny  him  ?  You  will  take 
some  refreshment  with  us,  sir?"  And  so  saying,  she  covered 
the  table,  and  thus  diverted  my  questionings  and  my  curiosity. 

After  a  while,  and  when  he  had  taken  sundry  long  pulls 
at  the  cider-jug,  the  old  Blaisot  appeared  to  have  regained 
his  self-possession,  and  to  have  formed  some  great  resolution. 
He  began  by  asking  me  my  reason  for  coming,  and  my  an- 
swers had  the  effect  of  quieting  his  suspicions  altogether ;  and 
without  any  farther  allusion  to  his  son,  we  talked  of  things 
in  general,  and  then  discussed  the  business  I  had  in  hand, 
and  the  conditions  on  which  it  could  be  executed. 

By  degrees,  however,  and  with  the  deepening  twilight,  the 
conversation  flagged  and  we  sat  in  silence,  each  falling  back 
upon  his  own  thoughts.  Loubette  had  been  for  a  long  time 
silent,  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  hearth,  whence  the  embers 
now  shot  up  a  ruddy  glow  that  lighted  the  room  with  a 
dazzling  glare,  and  then  sinking  down  again,  cast  only  strag- 


THE  WHITE  BOAT.  165 

gling  rays  of  pale  and  flickering  light  around.  Without,  the 
wind  sighed  and  moaned  in  half  whispers  through  the  thicket 
of  reeds  across  the  water,  and  came  blustering  with  louder 
tones  over  the  stubble-fields,  now  bringing  sounds  of  other 
kinds  from  the  far  distance,  so  that  even  I  was  impressed  by 
an  undefinable  sensation  of  awe. 

Loubette  threw  fresh  branches  on  the  fire,  which  soon  flared 
brightly  and  cheerfully  enough,  though  the  wood  was  very 
wet,  and  gave  out  all  sorts  of  strange  hissing  and  whistling 
sounds  in  burning. 

"  The  '  Pavas '  weep :  that  is  a  bad  sign  for  the  absent," 
said  Loubette  with  a  deep  sigh,  which  the  old  man  echoed  in 
a  hollow  tone.  "The  gentleman  brought  him  good  luck," 
continued  Loubette ;  "  if  he  were  but  once  directed  there,  he 
and  others  might  forget  what " — 

Here  she  suddenly  broke  off. 

"  No,  no,  it  is  all  in  vain  I "  muttered  the  old  man  to  him- 
self. "  There  is  no  such  thing  as  good  luck  for  one  who  has 
been  rocked  on  the  knees  of  the  dead." 

I  inquired  what  he  meant  by  this. 

"  I  mean  what  my  own  eyes  have  seen,"  continued  he,  with 
mingled  emotion  and  reserve.  "  For  that  matter,  every  one 
in  Vix  can  tell  you  the  story  of  the  rocking-woman.  But  if 
you  wish  to  hear  it  from  me,  why,  with  all  my  heart  I  You 
see,  sir,  it  was  in  the  time  of  the  great  war,  when  I  was  newly 
married.  It  was  a  bad  time ;  and  whatever  pains  one  took, 
everything  went  wrong.  Then  my  poor  Sillette  (God  have 
mercy  upon  her  I)  gradually  lost  her  spirits,  and  let  her  hands 
drop  down,  or  sat  with  them  folded,  instead  of  working  away 
where  work  was  much  needed — especially  as  our  boy  William 
was  then  born,  and  required  to  be  taken  care  of.  It  was  in 
vain  that  I  told  her  of  it,  both  kindly  and  crossly.  I  used 
often  to  say  to  her :  *  If  children  are  left  to  scream  at  night, 


166  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

the  old  people  in  the  grave  awake.'  It  did  no  good :  she  let 
him  scream  on,  and  only  wrapped  herself  np  the  more  in  the 
bed-clothes.  So  the  child  dwindled  day  by  day,  till  it  was 
pitiful  to  see  him.  One  night,  when  I  was  half  asleep  myself,  I 
thought  I  heard  a  humming  sound ;  and  when  I  was  thoroughly 
aroused,  I  found  sure  enough  that  it  was  no  dream.  I  sat  up 
and  listened  again,  and  it  was  the  humming  of  a  spinning- 
wheel.  And  when  I  put  out  my  head  through  the  bed-cur- 
tains, there,  at  the  other  end  of  the  room,  in  the  bright 
moonlight,  sat  the  grandmother  who  had  been  under  the  sod 
for  seven  years.  And  she  spun  on  and  on,  rocking  the  child 
upon  her  knees  the  while.  Can  there  be  any  good  fortune 
for  that  poor  child,  who  was  made  over  by  his  own  mother  to 
the  nursing  of  the  dead  ?  He  who  has  been  touched  by  the 
dead  is  doomed  to  misfortune!  There  is  no  blessing  upon 
him.  Something  deathlike  clings  to  him :  no  flocks,  no  crops 
prosper  under  his  care — the  hearts  of  all  those  he  loves  turn 
away  from  him.  And  so  it  is  with  our  poor  William ;  and  it 
is  not  without  reason  that  he  is  called  *  Mourning-child.'" 

"Did  you  ever  see  the  spinning  visitor  after  that?"  in- 
quired I. 

"  I  took  good  care  not  to  do  so,"  replied  he.  "  Why,  every 
child  knows  that  he  who  sees  one  of  the  dead  return  a  second 
time,  may  as  well  get  his  own  shroud  ready.  But  I  heard  the 
spinning-wheel  go  round — who  can  say  how  often  ?  How- 
ever, the  child  throve  afterwards;  and  strange  to  say,  he 
seemed  to  turn  away  from  his  mother  entirely,  and  attached 
himself  to  old  Marion,  the  stable-woman." 

We  now  sank  back  into  the  former  oppressive   silence. 

Loubette  went  up  and  down  the  room,  busied  about  house- 

'  hold  matters,  and  often  stood  as  if  listening  at  the  window ; 

then  she  came  and  sat  down  with  us  again.     Suddenly  a 

most  strange  and  piercing  cry,  like  that  of  a  bird,  sounded 


THE  WHITE  BOAT.  167 

without.  Both  father  and  daughter  started  up,  hut  each  with 
a  very  different  expression  of  countenance.  He  said,  half 
loud — 

"  It  is  the  night-raven,  and  at  so  late  an  hour ! — that,  too, 
bodes  no  good." 

She  seemed  to  be  listening  intently ;  and  as  three  similar 
sounds  were  heard  in  qiiick  succession,  each  drawing  nearer 
and  nearer,  she  said  in  a  trembling  voice,  which  was  little  in 
accordance  with  her  words — 

"  Ay,  a  boat  must  have  disturbed  him  in  his  nest.  It  is 
the  sleeping-time  of  beasts,  but  the  eating-time  of  men.  If 
you  please,  sir,  supper  is  now  ready." 

She  had  already  lit  a  lamp,  and  we  sat  ourselves  down  to 
a  table  covered  with  a  clean  cloth,  and  well  provided  with 
simple  fare.  As  the  old  peasant  gradually  thawed,  and  threw 
off  the  curse  of  suspicion — the  sad  inheritance  of  this  people 
— I  began  to  be  quite  comfortable  ;  and  only  remarked  after 
a  while,  that  the  girl,  who  had  often  risen  from  table  to  see 
about  one  thing  or  another,  as  well  as  about  my  sleeping 
quarters  for  the  night,  had  now  absented  herself  altogether. 

The  old  man  told  me  a  good  deal  about  his  son — how  brave, 
obedient,  and  industrious  he  used  to  be,  and  how  he  had  been 
betrothed  to  a  wealthy  maiden  of  the  district ;  who  had,  how- 
ever, been  faithless  to  him,  and  taken  another  person — and 
how,  since  then,  he  had  become  altered  in  everything.  He 
was  even  going,  in  answer  to  a  question  of  mine,  to  explain 
what  he  meant  by  this,  when  we  suddenly  heard  heavy  foot- 
steps and  the  clattering  of  arms  outside,  and  in  a  moment  or 
two  the  door  was  opened,  and  the  brigadier  of  the  gendarmerie 
of  Chaille  entered  the  room  in  full  uniform,  let  the  butt-end 
of  his  musket  fall  noisily  on  the  floor,  and  greeted  us  in  the 
peculiar,  jovial,  and  free-and-easy  tone  belonging  to  his  class. 

Old  Jerome  rose,  then  sank  down  again  as  pale  as  death ; 


168  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

and  the  glass,  which  he  took  Tip  by  way  of  strengthening  his 
courage,  rattled  against  his  teeth. 

"  Good  appetite  to  you,  sirs  I  and  do  not  let  me  disturb 
you,"  said  the  gendarme,  casting  a  keen  and  rapid  glance 
around  the  room.  "How  goes  it  with  your  health,  Papa 
Jerome?"  continued  he,  as  the  old  man  sat  opposite  him,  still 
silent  and  motionless ;  "  and  where  in  the  world  is  Loubette  ? 
— she  is  not  generally  absent." 

"Loubette?"  said  the  old  man,  who,  as  it  appeared  to  me, 
really  did  not  at  the  moment  know  where  she  was ;  "  why,  is 
she  not  in  the  kitchen  ?  " 

"  Old  fox,"  said  the  gendarme  in  a  sharper  tone,  and  draw- 
ing nearer,  "  you  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  she  is  not ;  and 
now,  then,  out  with  it  at  once — where  is  she?" 

"  I — I  will  look  for  her,"  stammered  the  peasant,  getting 
up  and  going  towards  the  door. 

"  No  such  thing,  old  man  ;  you  are  not  to  stir  from  this 
spot ;  and  let  us  have  no  more  tricks,  if  you  please.  You 
know  quite  well  why  I  come,  and  we  know  just  as  well  that 
your  son  is  with  you,  here." 

"My  son — my  William — here!"  exclaimed  the  old  man, 
with  an  air  of  surprise  which  must  have  appeared  natural  and 
genuine  even  to  the  gendarme.  At  least,  he  continued  in  a 
less  harsh  tone — 

"  Well,  whether  you  know  it  or  not,  he  is  here,  and  we 
must  take  him  up  as  a  Refractoire  ;  so  be  reasonable,  and  at 
all  events,  get  hold  of  the  girl  for  me." 

Blaisot  swore  by  all  the  saints  of  Upper  and  Lower  Poitou 
that  he  knew  nothing  about  it ;  that  his  son  had  never  told 
him  a  word.  By  this  exaggeration  of  ignorance  he  only 
awoke  again  the  suspicion  of  the  brigadier. 

"  We  know  you,"  he  exclaimed,  stroking  his  mustachios ; 
"  everything  is  white  here  ;  and  before  you  will  help  a  servant 


THE  WHITE  BOAT.  169 

of  the  Government  so  mucli  as  with  your  little  finger — but 
wait  a  little,  and  we  will  soon  manage  you." 

The  old  man  now  declared  in  the  most  eloquent  manner  his 
attachment  to  the  July  dynasty,  and  his  ignorance  respecting 
any  offence  committed  against  any  government  whatsoever. 

"Hold  your  peace,  you  old  hypocrite !"  replied  the  soldier, 
with  a  certain  degree  of  restored  confidence  in  his  tone.  "  Do 
not  we  know  you  of  old  ?  Did  not  you  do  just  the  same  when 
you  were  thirty  or  forty  years  younger  ?  Sure  I  am,  it  is  not 
so  serious  an  affair  as  it  was  then.  The  Blues  did  not  under- 
stand a  joke ;  and  a  bullet  or  the  guillotine  soon  made  an  end 
of  the  refractory.  But  still,  mind  what  you  are  about,  for  the 
prison  and  the  galleys  are  no  trifle  either,  and  an  execution  in 
the  house — I  say,  old  fellow !" 

The  poor  man  would  perhaps  have  been  able  to  bear  all 
threats  against  life  and  liberty  stoically  enough,  but  the 
thought  of  being  deprived  of  his  goods  and  chattels  by  an 
execution  woke  up  his  covetousness — the  hereditary  vice  of 
the  peasants  of  Poitou — and  he  lost  all  control. 

"  For  the  sake  of  the  Holy  Virgin,  M.  Durand,"  he  pite- 
ously  exclaimed,  with  his  hands  clasped,  "  do  but  believe  me  ! 
William  has  never  returned  home  since  " — 

Here  he  stopped,  having  observed  the  scrutinizing  glance 
cast  at  him  by  his  tormentor,  and  continued  in  a  less  doleful 
tone — 

"  It  has  been  through  no  fault  of  mine ;  how  much  I  said 
to  him  when  the  lot  fell  upon  him — and  how  I  told  him,  over 
and  over  again,  that  he  must  make  up  his  mind  and  obey,  and 
be  no  '  bush- recruit.'  But  you  know  very  well,  my  good  M. 
Brigadier,  as  well  as  all  Lower  Poitou  docs,  that  since  his 
betrothed  jilted  him  and  married  another  man,  there  is  no 
getting  him  to  leave  the  country,  even  though  he  were  as  free 
as  a  bird  on  the  tree." 


170  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

"  That  is  the  very  thing,  old  man,"  exclaimed  the  gendarme 
in  triumph.  "  He  cannot  leave  Louise ;  and  yesterday  he 
was  seen  at  Vallembreuse,  and  is  it  likely  that  his  own  father 
should  not  know  where  he  spent  the  night?  But  now  we 
have  had  prattle  enough  ;  we  must  search  the  house  thorough- 
ly, and  if  we  have  to  dig  up  the  hearthstone  to  find  him,  yet 
find  him  we  must !" 

He  was  moving  quickly  towards  the  door,  when  Loubette's 
voice  was  heard  outside  in  loud  disputation,  as  it  soon  ap- 
peared, with  the  brigadier's  men  who  were  stationed  without. 
One  of  them  dragged  her  in,  while  she  struggled  violently, 
and  defended  herself  with  her  tongue  most  courageously — 

"  Is  this,  then,  the  law,  right,  and  good  order  of  the  day,  to 
say  nothing  of  its  politeness,"  cried  she,  with  her  harsh  but 
full-toned  voice ;  "  that  a  virtuous  girl  should  be  treated  like 
a  criminal,  when  she  comes  home  from  the  field  ?" 

"  Why,  only  see  now !  the  mistress  of  the  house  ! "  ex- 
claimed the  brigadier  tauntingly.  "  And  may  we  ask  where 
thou  comest  from  so  late,  old  lady  ?" 

"From  a  place  where  it  is  not  usual  to  say  '  thou'  to  girls 
one  has  not  the  honour  of  knowing,  M.  Gendarme,"  an- 
swered Loubette,  with  a  degree  of  boldness  that  had  a  some- 
thing of  the  heroic,  when  contrasted  with  her  father's  embar- 
rassment. 

After  the  dialogue  had  been  carried  on  a  while  in  this  tone, 
growing  even  bitterer  and  bitterer,  the  experienced  old  soldier 
observed  that  she  only  pretended  to  be  indignant,  to  conceal 
her  distress  and  confusion,  as  well  as  to  gain  time,  and  in- 
duce him,  through  very  anger,  to  abandon  the  part  he  had  to 
play. 

He  therefore  quickly  composed  himself,  and  said,  in  a  tone 
of  grave  and  ironical  politeness — 

"  Now,  then,  we  will  take  hold  of  the  question  with  silk 


THE  WHITE  BOAT.  171 

gloves,  and  perhaps  Miss  Loubette  will  have  the  great  kind- 
ness to  inform  us  where  she  has  just  come  from." 

"Why,  if  you  are  quite  bent  upon  knowing  this  great 
secret,  I  have  been  taking  the  shepherd  his  supper." 

The  gendarmes  at  once  confronted  her — they  had  caught 
her  coming  from  the  very  opposite  direction.  But  Loubette 
was  not  to  be  puzzled  by  this.  She  asserted  that  although  she 
had  gone  round  to  the  field  where  the  sheep  were  feeding  by 
the  meadow,  that  had  only  been  for  the  purpose  of  fetching 
the  sickle,  which  she  had  forgotten  at  noon. 

"Or,  perhaps  you  may  think  that  I  wanted  to  cut  old 
Jerome's  bread  with  this  sickle,"  added  she  with  a  sneer,  as 
she  threw  down  the  sickle,  which  she  really  drew  from  under 
her  apron. 

The  brigadier  now  tried  to  catch  her  by  all  manner  of  art- 
ful questions  and  assertions ;  but  she  parried  them  so  well, 
that  he  began  to  contradict  himself,  and  knew  no  longer  what 
he  was  about. 

"There's  no  catching  the  subtle  creature  !"  he  exclaimed 
at  last,  in  dudgeon.  "  And  there's  no  dragging  the  truth  out 
of  the  stupid  old  Chouans  either.  Two  of  you  stay  here  to 
watch  these  people,  and  the  rest  of  us  will  rummage  the  whole 
place — he  must  be  here." 

The  brigadier  had  taken  no  further  notice  of  me  than  that 
implied  in  his  first  curt  greeting,  for  he  knew  me  before.  But 
I  plainly  saw  that  he  found  my  presence  inconvenient.  I  fol- 
lowed him  to  the  house-door,  and  heard  one  of  the  gendarmes 
say  to  him — "  Was  not  that  a  boat  that  glided  over  the  water 
behind  the  bushes  yonder?" 

In  fact,  we  soon  heard  the  sound  of  oars,  and  the  trilling 
of  a  cheerful  song,  then  a  scream,  and  a  momentary  silence ; 
then  some  quick  oar-strokes,  a  rustling  in  the  thicket ;  and,  an 
instant  after,  the  vagabond  Berand,  my  travelling  companion, 


172  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

nished  towards  the  house,  breathless,  and  evidently  beside 
himself,  and  threw  himself  down  upon  the  bank  before  the 
door.  At  once  assailed  by  the  brigadier,  who  not  unreason- 
ably charged  him  with  being  an  old  drunkard,  he  broke  out 
into  the  following  unconnected  sentences — 

"  I  have  seen — seen  him  !  There — there — I  tell — I  tell 
you.  He  glided  in  his  white  boat  out  from  the  bushes — and 
— and — under  the  trees  opposite — and  he  was  gone  !" 

"  But  who  there — what  there,  in  the  name  of  all  that  is 
holy  ?"  screamed  out  the  brigadier  in  his  impatience. 

"  Who  ?  He  ! "  was  the  low  reply  ;  *'  the  white  boat,  and 
the  little  yellow  man  at  the  helm  !  And  he  had  a  corpse  in 
its  white  grave-clothes  lying  across  the  boat  before  him  ;  its 
head  was  hanging  over  the  water  !" 

"The  wooden-leg  is  drimk ;  he  has  been  dreaming!" 
laughed  the  brigadier. 

"Would  to  God  I  had  dreamt  it,  and  were  not  sober!" 
said  poor  Berand,  who  had  indeed  been  pretty  eflfectually 
sobered  by  the  fright.  "  But  I  have  not  only  seen  but  heard. 
'  Turn  back,  unhappy  man  ! '  the  figure  exclaimed,  '  or  I  will 
turn  thee  round  and  round.'  The  brandy  still  gave  me 
courage  to  answer,  '  Man  or  woman,  whom  hast  thou  there  ? ' 
But  it  cried  out  in  a  voice  that  went  through  the  marrow  of 
my  bones,  *  I  have  got  tall  William  to-day,  and  in  eight  days 
I  shall  have  thee  ! '  That  was  enough  for  me  ;  and  here  I  am, 
thank  God,  at  least  on  dry  land  still ;  and  in  eight  days  hence, 
I  shall  take  pretty  good  care  to  be  far  enough  from  here  !" 

Scarcely  had  the  cripple  named  the  name  of  William,  than 
the  brigadier  hurried  oif,  with  an  exclamation,  to  the  canal, 
and  all  his  party  after  him.  We  heard  the  click  of  their 
muskets  as  they  cocked  them  in  setting  off;  next,  we  heard 
the  brigadier  call  out  three  times,  and  then  a  gun  was  fired  ; 
and,  on  hastening  to  the  place  whence  the  sound  came,  we 


THE  WHITE  BOAT.  173 

found  the  gendarmes  collected  on  the  bank  of  the  side  canal, 
by  which  Blaisot's  land  was  bounded,  and  occupying  a  por- 
tion of  the  causeway  from  which  one  could  see  part  of  the 
great  canal  and  its  nearest  ramifications. 

"  If  the  little  yellow  man  has  escaped  us,  he  has  at  all 
events  left  his  freight  behind  him,"  called  out  the  brigadier, 
as  he  pointed  towards  a  moonlit  spot  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  small  canal  which  belonged  to  Blaisot's  land.  With 
horror,  we  discovered  a  corpse  stretched  out  at  full  length  in 
the  moonlight.  The  gendarmes  brought  out  the  boat  in 
which  our  wooden-legged  friend  had  just  arrived,  and  went  to 
fetch  the  body.  Scarcely  had  they  laid  it  down  upon  the 
dyke,  than  Loubette,  followed  by  her  father  and  their  guard, 
rushed  towards  it,  kneeling  down  to  look  at  the  face,  and  find- 
ing it  unrecognisable  through  decomposition,  snatched  at  the 
right  hand  of  the  corpse,  and  exclaiming — "  Holy  Virgin,  it 
is  my  brother!"  sprang  up,  and  held  out  a  ring  to  her  father, 
naming  the  names  of  William  and  Louise  inscribed  on  it,  and 
a  flaming  heart  between  them. 

After  the  first  outburst  of  grief,  the  girl  soon  attained  to  a 
remarkable  degree  of  outward  composure ;  though  there  was 
certainly  something  overstrained  and  excited  about  it ;  and  it 
was  often  interrupted  by  almost  convulsive  gestures,  wringing 
of  the  hands,  and  deep-drawn  sobs.  However,  it  was  such  as 
enabled  her  to  give  all  the  orders  she  deemed  necessary. 

Agreeably  to  her  directions,  the  corpse  was  taken  to  an  out- 
building near  the  house,  to  which  Loubette  made  her  escape 
as  soon  as  she  had  with  inconceivable  celerity  prepared  every- 
thing against  the  aixival  of  guests. 

The  old  father  appeared  quite  broken  down,  and  almost 
childish  with  grief  and  horror ;  and,  with  lamentable  groans, 
and  iinconnected  cries,  he  meekly  allowed  himself  to  be  led 
back  to  the  arm-chair  in  his  own  room. 


174  BKITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

Either  by  the  shot,  or  by  the  sort  of  presentiment  or  in- 
stinct which  never  fails  to  draw  people  to  a  place  where  a 
calamity  has  occurred,  even  before  any  definite  tidings  of  it 
can  have  had  time  to  reach  them,  a  number  of  the  country 
people  of  the  neighbouring  district  were  soon  collected.  Lou- 
bette  was  now  busily  occupied  ;  for,  according  to  the  popular 
custom,  which  makes  a  death,  as  well  as  a  wedding  or  a  christ- 
ening— joy  and  sorrow  alike — a  pretext  for  eating  and  drink- 
ing, she  had  to  provide  both  food  and  liquor,  during  which 
task  she  seemed  to  be  struggling  rather  with  anxiety  than 
grief.  Old  Jerome  welcomed  each  arrival  with  loud  lamenta- 
tions, which  did  not,  however,  interfere  with  his  activity  in 
passing  round  the  jug. 

As  soon  as  Loubette  had  attended  to  her  guests,  and 
especially  seen  that  the  gendarmes  were  favourably  placed 
as  regarded  the  circulation  of  the  cider- jug  and  the  brandy 
pitcher,  she  hurried  out  again,  and  placed  at  the  threshold  of 
the  little  out-house,  where  lay  the  corpse,  covered  with  a  coarse 
linen  cloth,  two  lighted  candles,  which  were  not  rendered 
superfluous  by  the  dawning  light — for  it  was  a  dark  corner 
enough. 

The  maiden  was  seated  at  the  entrance  with  her  head 
covered,  and,  as  one  neighbour  after  another  came  in,  she 
appeared  neither  to  see  nor  hear,  and  kept  all  at  a  distance  by 
the  violence  of  her  emotion ;  so  that  even  those  who  would  fain 
have  taken  a  nearer  look  at  the  body,  refrained  from  passing 
her  to  do  so.  Each  fresh  comer  was  contented  with  a  hasty 
glance  and  a  murmured  prayer,  and  then  withdrew. 

After  a  while,  the  aged  shepherd  presented  iTimself,  a 
venerable  form,  that  seemed  rather  to  belong  to  other 
times. 

"  This  also  comes  in  the  train  of  old  age,"  he  said  in  a  half 
whisper,  as  he  remained  standing  close  to  Loubette.     "  The 


THE  WHITE  BOAT.  175 

son  of  the  house,  -whose  birth  I  commemorated,  lies  dead  upon 
the  bier,  and  the  daughter  sits  weeping  at  the  threshold  !" 

*'  God  is  proving  our  faith  and  patience,  Master  Jacques," 
replied  the  girl,  looking  up,  as  if  struggling  with  contending 
.  purposes,  and  then,  deeply  moved,  looked  sadly  in  the  old 
man's  face,  as  he  continued  his  wailings. 

He  placed  his  broad  hand  upon  her  head,  as  if  to  bless  her ; 
but  his  lamentations  only  increased  her  grief,  for  he  spoke  of 
the  virtues  of  the  deceased,  who  was  evidently  an  object  of 
affection  to  the  whole  neighbourhood.  At  length,  groaning 
deeply,  he  shaded  his  face  with  his  hands,  and  the  few  large 
tears  that  trickled  slowly  over  his  furrowed  cheeks,  seemed  as 
though  wrung  by  the  greatness  of  his  agony  from  foimtains 
that  had  long  been  dry.  He  now  made  a  movement  towards 
the  corpse,  and,' at  first,  Loubette  appeared  inclined  to  hinder 
his  advance,  but  checking  herself,  she  muttered  in  an  under 
tone — "The  gray-head  will  not  betray  us  I"  and  followed 
him  with  looks  of  earnest  attention. 

He  lifted  the  cloth  that  covered  the  face,  but  let  it  fall 
again  immediately.  There  was  no  trace  of  identity ;  and  the 
spectacle  revealed  by  the  uncertain  light  was  one  of  horror. 
The  pet  sheep,  which  had  accompanied  the  old  man,  and  at 
first  attentively  sniffed  the  air  around  the  corpse,  now  turned 
unconcerned  away — a  great  offence  in  the  eyes  of  old  Jerome. 

"  I  have  thought  more  highly  of  the  beast  than  it  deserved," 
he  said  snllenly.  "  It  is  no  better  than  the  children  of  men  1 
Should  you  not  recognise  your  master's  son,  living  or  dead — 
even  though  his  features  be  disfigured  ?  But  such  is  the  way 
of  the  world — to  have  no  memory  for  the  absent  and  the 
dead!"  And  so  saying,  he  withdrew,  accompanied  by  the 
black  sheep,  which  looked  half  ashamed,  half  surprised  at  his 
reproof. 

The  brigadier,  finding  I  had  studied  the  law,  had  asked  mo 


176  BRITTANY  AXD  LA  VENDUE. 

to  Visit  the  body,  and  to  draw  up  the  proces-verial  of  the 
finding  of  the  corpse.  Berand  offered  to  assist  me,  as  he  had 
experience  in  such  matters. 

On  the  discovery  of  a  corps  malheureux — as  a  body  whose 
manner  of  death  is  suspicious  or  doubtful  is  termed  in  this 
country — it  frequently  happens  that  the  next  of  kin  devolve 
the  duties  of  preparing  it  for  burial  on  an  official  styled  the 
grave-digger  of  the  lost.,  who  is  seldom  a  person  of  good  repute, 
although  the  pay  is  excellent.  Master  Fait-tout  seemed, 
nevertheless,  accustomed  to  the  work  ;  and  his  help  was  very 
acceptable,  for  it  was  no  pleasant  task ;  and  I  wrote  down 
what  he  dictated  in  answer  to  my  inquiries. 

On  a  sudden,  as  he  was  busied  with  the  right  arm,  he  burst 
into  a  loud  exclamation  of  astonishment. 

"  What  is  the  matter?"  I  cried. 

"What  is  the  matter!"  he  replied  softly,  coming  nearer 
than  was  agreeable  to  me ;  "  what  do  you  see  on  this  arm  ?" 

"  I  see  a  tattooing  mark,  such  as  you  were  making  at  the 
inn  at  Marans." 

"  Just  so  :  the  grand-piece — the  altar,  the  lily,  the  cross, 
and  a  cipher.  Now,  except  the  lad  on  whom  I  etched  it  this 
morning,  there  is  only  one  in  all  Lower  Poitou  who  has  the 
grand-piece  on  his  arm ;  and  that  is,  or  was — not  Guillaume 
Blaisot,  but  Pierre  Sauvage,  called  the  well-reputed,  who 
was  drowned  a  week  ago,  no  one  knew  where,  or  how,  and 
now  " — 

A  half-suppressed  scream  prevented  the  completion  of  the 
sentence,  and  on  looking  round,  we  saw  Loubette  standing 
erect  at  the  entrance,  pale,  and  with  dishevelled  hair  and 
flaming  eyes,  and  her  arm  stiEBy  extended. 

"Come  hither,  maiden ! "  he  exclaimed,  "your  brother  is 
alive !  At  least,  this  is  no  more  he,  than  it  is  the  Pope  of 
Eome." 


THE  WHITE  BOAT.  177 

But  her  emotion  was  at  first  too  great  for  words;  and  when 
she  did  speak,  the  accents  were  not  those  of  joy,  but  of  an- 
guish and  terror — 

"  On  thy  life — on  thine  everlasting  salvation,  say  not  an- 
other word !  And  who  allowed  you  to  meddle  with  the 
dead?  what  business  have  you  here?"  she  added  with  a  deep 
groan,  at  the  same  time  approaching  him. 

I  quieted  her  with  a  few  words  of  explanation,  and  an 
assurance  that  she  might  trust  me.  She  grasped  my  hand, 
but  cast  a  look  of  suspicion  on  my  assistant.  The  latter, 
after  a  short  pause,  during  which  he  displayed  more  feeling 
than  was  his  wont,  exclaimed — 

"  Now  I  see  it  all !    You  knew  that  it  was  not  Guillaume  ?" 

She  nodded  assent. 

"  You  are  a  brave  lass,  and  I  understand  the  game ;  and 
may  the  deuce  take  me  if  I  meddle,  or  marl  I've  no  such 
liking  for  the  bloodhounds,  especially  since  'the  glorious 
days '  in  Paris  yonder.     So,  my  word  upon  it,  I'm  silent." 

"Now  I  know  the  meaning  of  the  bird-call,"  said  I  to 
Loiibette;  "a  signal  that  Guillaume  was  there  with  the 
corpse,  was  it  not?" 

Again  she  nodded,  and  whispered,  faintly  smiling — 

"He  had  most  fortunately  seen  it  lying  in  the  mud  and 
slime  at  the  border  of  a  little  creek  two  hours  ago,  and  had 
arranged  it  all  with  me.  He  is  in  concealment,  while  he  is 
supposed  to  be  dead,  and  the  hue  and  cry  is  thus  stopped. 
He  hovers  about  here,  as  though  Louise  had  bewitched  him, 
and  declares  that  he  must  see  and  speak  to  her  yet  once 
more."     She  turned  again  to  Berand — 

"You  keep  our  secret?"  she  said,  looking  earnestly  at 
him,  and  holding  out  her  hand. 

He  was  about  to  grasp  it,  when  he  suddenly  drew  back, 
and  exclaimed — 


178  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

"  Not  so  fast !  Your  fine  brother,  then,  was  the  yellow 
dwarf  with  the  hollow  cough,  and  the  corpse  in  his  White 
Boat,  who  gave  me  such  a  fright  as  he  chased  me  on  the 
water? — No,  that  was  too  much — that's  not  to  he  forgiven  ! 
To  make  such  a  fool  of  me,  and  terrify  me,  like  a  child  with 
a  scarecrow!  We'll  see  what  the  brigadier  says  to  that 
game!" 

I  strove  to  appease  him ;  but,  unluckily,  another  weight 
dropped  into  the  wrong  balance. 

"  No,  no,"  said  he ;  "  what  a  fool  I  should  have  been  I  The 
Sauvages  have  offered  fifty  pounds  for  the  body  of  their  son, 
and  I  may  as  well  have  the  reward  as  any  one  else." 

He  was  rushing  out,  but  she  stood  in  the  doorway,  and 
placing  both  her  hands  on  his  shoulders,  and  looking  at  him 
with  sharp  and  earnest  gaze,  while  her  cheeks  glowed  with 
the  excitement  of  her  situation,  she  said,  in  a  calm,  but  harsh 
and  determined  voice — 

"  Look  well  to  yourself,  wooden-leg :  you  have  a  choice  to 
make.  Are  we  in  future  to  be  friends  or  foes?  Give  me 
your  word  that  you  will  say  no  more  than  you  are  asked,  and 
from  this  hour  you  have  a  home  in  the  house  of  the  Blaisots 
— and  you  know  the  value  of  such  a  home  to  you  and  the  like 
of  you.  Or  say  but  a  word,  make  but  a  sign — a  gesture  that 
may  involve  peril  to  my  brother,  and  you  have  Loubette 
Blaisot  for  your  deadly  enemy, — and  Loubette  keeps  her  word 
for  good  and  for  evil.  If  you  know  it  not,  ask  throughout 
Lower  Poitou;  and  then,  old  man,  ask  yourself  whether  it 
can  bring  you  either  honour  or  profit  in  this  country  to  betray 
a  loyal  Vendean  to  the  gendarmerie  ?  Guillaume  is  lost  if 
he  is  not  dead !  Do  you  understand  ?  As  to  the  promise  of 
the  Sauvages,  the  Blaisots  can  fulfil  it  as  well." 

A  host  of  conflicting  feelings  was  struggling  in  the  man's 
breast.     It  was  mortified  vanity  alone  that  had  caused  him 


THE  WHITE  BOAT.  179 

to  swerve  from  his  original  friendly  resolution ;  and  thus — 
when  I  told  him  that  if  he  did  not  himself  represent  his  fright 
as  a  mere  idle  joke,  in  order  to  justify  his  treacherous  betrayal 
of  the  young  Blaisot,  no  one  in  the  country  would  for  a  mo- 
ment doubt  the  fact  of  a  spectral  appearance,  or  regard  his 
terror  as  otherwise  than  perfectly  natural — he  was  pacified, 
and  able  to  estimate  Loubette's  promised  gratitude,  as  well 
as  her  threatened  vengeance,  at  their  proper  value.  He  now 
put  his  hand  into  that  which  she  again  held  out — 

"  Done  ! — I  keep  counsel." 

It  was  indeed  high  time  that  we  came  to  an  i:nderstanding, 
for  during  the  discussion  all  the  neighbours  had  withdrawn, 
and  the  brigadier  had  called  twice ;  and  scarcely  had  we 
turned  again  towards  the  corpse,  while  Loubette  resumed  her 
place  and  attitude  at  the  entrance,  when  he  appeared,  and 
inquired  if  the  deposition  were  not  yet  ready,  as  it  was  time 
he  should  be  setting  out.  I  hastily  wrote  the  concluding 
words,  and  handed  the  document  to  him.  He  scarcely  looked 
at  it ;  and  it  was  evident  that  the  cider  had  done  its  work. 
Calling  his  men  together,  he  departed  with  them  and  old 
Jerome,  to  make  his  deposition  before  the  nearest  magistrate. 
The  old  shepherd  would  fain  have  taken  another  look  at  the 
corpse,  but  this  Loubette  prevented. 

"  He  knows  nothing  of  it,"  she  whispered  in  my  ear,  shrug- 
ging her  shoulders,  and  shaking  her  head  significantly. 

No  sooner  had  the  tread  of  the  gendarmes  and  the  clang  of 
their  weapons  died  away  in  the  distance,  than  Loubette,  who 
had  been  intently  listening,  sprang  to  the  back-door,  and  twice 
repeated  the  bird-call  that  I  had  heard  at  the  beginning  of 
the  evening.  After  a  few  minutes,  I  heard  her  speaking  with 
some  one,  and,  in  company  with  a  young  peasant,  she  walked 
into  the  room,  to  which,  unable  any  longer  to  bear  the  neigh- 
bourhpod  of  the  corpse,  I  had  betaken  myself. 


180  URITTANY  AND  LA  VKNDEE. 

Fait-tout  now  proved  his  right  to  his  name,  by  undertak- 
ing to  dig  a  grave  in  the  garden,  and  to  superintend  the 
interment  of  the  deceased,  by  which  the  gendarmes,  as  well  as 
the  neighbours,  asserted  that  he  had  sought  his  own  death, 
and  had  thus  forfeited  all  claim  to  Christian  burial. 

As  Loubette  came  in  leading  her  brother,  the  likeness  be- 
tween them  was  very  striking ;  and  those  traits  which  took 
from  her  the  softness  of  womanly  attractiveness,  rendered  him 
a  type  of  manly  beauty.  He  was  an  active,  well-looking  fel- 
low, in  spite  of  the  hardships  that  he  had  recently  endured, 
while  he  had  been  wandering  about  like  a  criminal,  or  a  baited 
wolf. 

On  seeing  me,  he  retreated  a  step,  and  put  his  hand  in  his 
vest,  as  if  seeking  a  weapon,  but  Loubette  soon  reassured  him. 

When  the  first  greetings  were  over,  and  he  had  offered  me 
a  few  words  of  thanks,  Loubette  interrupted  us,  reminding 
him  that  it  was  time  to  refresh  himself. 

"  For  you  cannot  stay  here,"  she  added  with  a  heavy  sigh ; 
and  for  a  moment,  it  appeared  that  the  struggle  of  her  full 
heart  was  about  to  find  relief  in  tears.  She  rallied,  however, 
and  resumed  her  usual  calmness  of  bearing  ;  it  was  as  though 
hers  were  a  life  of  action,  not  of  emotion. 

And  yet  with  what  motherly  tenderness  she  now  ministered 
to  her  brother !  carefully  appropriating  to  him  his  place,  his 
cup,  his  spoon  ;  anxious  to  give  him  yet  once  more  the  full 
impression  of  home.  It  was  touching  to  see  him  fold  his 
hands  in  prayer  before  he  cut  the  bread. 

"  It  is  the  first  of  the  new  wheat,"  said  Loubette ;  "  I  would 
not  use  any  till  you  were  with  us." 

"  God  bless  thee,  my  sister  !  I  praise  Him  that  He  has  per- 
mitted me  to  taste  again  the  corn  of  our  paternal  fields  for  the 
last  time,"  he  added  slowly,  and  with  a  deep-drawn  sigh. 

He  however  turned  to  the  table  and  set  to  in  good  earnest, 


THE  WHITE  BOAT.  181 

as  thougb  he  were  making  a  meal  that  might  carry  him 
through  more  than  one  day.  Between  whiles,  he  asked  a 
hundred  questions  about  all  the  little  matters  that  had 
occurred  in  field  and  stable  during  his  absence ;  and  in  the 
interest  of  these  domestic  details,  both  seemed  to  have  for- 
gotten the  perilous  circumstances  in  which  he  was  placed.  I 
was  compelled  to  remind  him  that  if  there  were  nothing  more 
to  be  apprehended  than  the  return  of  his  father,  the  meeting 
with  him  must  be  avoided,  as  he  was  not  in  the  secret.  When 
Guillaume  was  away,  he  might  know  all  with  safety.  .At  the 
same  time,  I  offered  to  take  him  with  me  to  Marans,  from 
whence  he  could  readily  get  across  the  country.  It  was  so 
early,  that  we  ran  but  little  risk  of  meeting  neighbours  on  the 
road,  and  in  case  of  a  straggler  or  two,  he  could  contrive  to 
hide  his  face. 

He  accepted  the  proposal,  and  slowly  arose  from  his  seat  in 
the  home  of  his  youth. 

"  God's  will  be  done !  but  it  is  hard  for  a  son  to  shun  his 
own  father,  and  steal  from  his  own  home  like  a  felon  !"  said 
he,  as  he  grasped  his  staff,  and  took  the  bundle  which  his 
sister  had  prepared.  She  now  turned  aside,  and,  for  the  first 
time  during  this  trying  scene,  her  strong  mind  gave  way  be- 
neath the  storm  of  her  feelings.  She  covered  her  head,  and 
sobbed  as  though  her  heart  were  breaking.  He  stood  unde- 
cided, and  struck  his  stick  against  the  floor.  She  made  a 
strong  effort,  turned  towards  her  brother,  and,  cutting  a 
small  slice  from  the  loaf,  she  made  the  sign  of  the  cross  on  it, 
then  kissed  it,  and  put  it  in  his  vest.  She  then  grasped  his 
hand,  and  looked  imploringly  at  me.  I  understood  her,  and 
went  out  to  look  to  the  vehicle,  and  to  leave  the  brother  and 
sister  alone  to  their  bitter  parting.  She  still  strove  against 
her  weakness  before  the  stranger. 

In  a  few  minutes  he  came  out,  and,  witliout  saying  a  word, 


182  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

took  his  seat  beside  me  in  the  car,  gathered  up  the  reins,  and 
we  were  off.  We  drove  on  for  about  an  hour  and  a  half, 
when  he  suddenly  halted,  and  said — 

"  Excuse  me,  sh",  I  will  not  detain  you,  but  I  have  business 
here,  hard  by." 

I  represented  to  him  the  risk  he  incurred,  and  expressed  my 
surprise  at  his  having  any  business  that  could  hinder  him  for 
a  quarter  of  an  hour  under  such  circumstances.  It  availed 
not,  and  he  only  entreated  me  to  wait  for  him. 

"  Only  ten  minutes,"  he  exclaimed  with  the  deepest  emo- 
tion. "  It  is  no  business — it  is  but  a  house — a  look.  I  cannot 
leave  the  country  without  once  more" — 

He  pointed  to  a  house  overshadowed  by  trees,  about  a  hun- 
dred paces  from  the  spot. 

"  Louise?"  I  asked. 

He  coloured,  and  nodded  assent,  and  then  hurried  towards 
the  dwelling. 

I  fastened  the  horse  to  a  tree,  and  followed  him,  to  be  at 
hand  in  case  of  trouble.  He  stood  a  while  beneath  a  tree 
that  was  growing  out  of  the  hedge  which  surrounded  the 
garden.  The  window  of  a  projecting  angle  of  the  building 
was  just  opposite,  and  doubtless  he  had  good  reasons  for 
choosing  his  post.  The  curtains  were  drawn,  and  the  inmates 
of  the  house  seemed  buried  in  sleep.  The  distant  village 
clock  struck  three,  and  I  thought  it  high  time  that  we  were 
again  on  the  road,  I  approached,  and  bade  him  be  comforted, 
and  take  courage.  His  expression  awed  me ;  it  was  rather 
one  of  anger  and  passion  than  of  sorrow,  with  the  same  stern 
fixed  look  that  he  had  in  common  with  his  sister. 

"One  moment  more!"  he  whispered  softly.  "She  must 
know  that  I  have  been  here,  and  then  she  will  see  how  to 
settle  it  with  her  conscience.  Yes  ;  if  she  should  learn  that 
ray  corpse  was  found  here !" 


THE  WHITE  BOAT.  183 

He  laughed  a  bitter  laugh,  as  he  untied  his  cravat,  and 
was  about  to  fasten  it  to  a  branch  which  overhung  the  win- 
dow. 

"  She  will  know  it  but  too  well !"  he  murmured. 

Just  at  this  moment,  the  cry  of  an  infant  was  heard  from 
the  chamber.  It  had  a  wonderful  effect  on  him,  and  changed 
his  fiercer  mood  into  one  of  complete  prostration. 

"  She  is  a  mother  1 "  he  cried.  "  I  did  not  know  it ;  Lou- 
bette  should  not  have  concealed  that  from  me.  It  is  all  over 
now  I  and  God  forbid  that  I  should  bring  terror  to  a  mother  ! " 

He  let  go  the  bough,  which  swung  back  agaiast  the  win- 
dow, and  fastened  the  cravat  round  his  neck ;  and  in  a  few 
seconds,  was  seated  by  my  side,  lost  in  thought,  and  rapidly 
urging  forward  the  horse  on  the  road  to  Marans. 

He  drew  up  at  the  Bridge  of  Vix,  and  declared  that  his 
route  now  lay  in  a  different  direction.  I  offered  him  the 
charge  of  a  little  farm  in  Touraine,  if  he  would  let  me  know 
where  to  find  him.  He  was  evidently  grateful  for  ray  sym- 
pathy, but  declined  the  offer,  saying — 

"  It  can't  be  ;  I  must  live  as  the  rest  do.  To  manage  a 
farm  properly,  I  must  have  a  wife,  and  I  could  not  think  of 
that.  Man  must  labour,  in  the  quietness  and  the  peace  of  his 
heart  and  of  his  life,  and  that  I  cannot  do.  I  should  never 
see  a  gendarme  without  thinking  that  he  was  seeking  me." 

"  You  are  dead  for  the  gendarmes,  Guillaume,  and  for  all 
the  world  except  Loubette  and  me,"  I  replied  half  jestingly. 
But  the  words  made  a  painful  impression  on  him. 

"  It  were  perhaps  the  best  thing  that  could  happen  for  me 
if  it  were  true,"  he  rejoined  gloomily.  But  recovering  him- 
self quickly,  he  imparted  to  me  his  plan,  which  was  to  seek  a 
home  with  some  friends  in  the  Talmond  country.  I  made 
some  inquiries  as  to  his  means  of  subsistence ;  but  he  was 
ah^y  and  broke  off  the  conversation  abruptly,  saying  that  he 


184  BKITTANY  AND  LA  VEND:£e. 

had  still  far  to  travel,  and  that  people  were  coming  in  sight 
along  the  road  from  Marans.  He  was  right;  and  we  had 
scarcely  time  for  a  brief  farewell,  and  a  hearty  grasp  of  each 
other's  hand,  when  he  was  lost  in  the  thicket,  and  I  saw  him 
no  more.  But  among  the  bodies  of  those  who  were  shot  by 
the  gendarmerie  in  the  slight  rising  that  soon  afterwards  took 
place  in  La  Vendee,  on  the  appearance  there  of  the  Duchess 
de  Berri,  that  of  Guillaume  Blaisot  was  recognised. 


THE  TEEASURE-SEEKEE. 


Traditions  of  enchanted  treasures,  still  obtainable  by  en- 
chantment, are  as  common  among  the  people  of  France  as 
anywhere  else.  One  of  the  most  detailed  of  these  traditions 
has  maintained  itself  in  Les  Pays  des  Basques.  It  is  often 
narrated  by  the  shepherds  who  tend  their  flocks  around  the 
sources  of  the  Gave,  whose  confluence  in  the  plains  forms  the 
Adour. 

Long  before  the  days  of  Julius  Csesar,  there  was  a  magician 
who,  riding  on  a  tamed  dragon,  contrived  to  reach  the  rock 
where  Debrua,  the  Evil  Spirit,  had  his  abode.  He  wound  a 
magic  chain  seven  times  about  him,  and  forced  him  to  reveal 
the  nature  of  the  talisman  which  insured  possession  of  all 
earthly  power  and  earthly  enjoyment.  Debrua  gave  him  the 
information  required.  In  order  to  obtain  every  wish  of  his 
heart,  he  had  but  to  conquer  the  saffron-coloured  fly  that  ap- 
peared every  evening  in  a  mountain-pass  of  the  Pyrenees 
which  he  named.  In  order  to  catch  the  fly,  he  was  to  weave 
a  net  of  the  three  hairs  whose  roots  were  nearest  the  brain, 
having  previously  prepared  them  with  sweat  and  blood.     The 


186  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

enchanter  followed  these  directions,  caught  sight  of  the  saffron- 
coloured  fly,  and  followed  it  seven  days  and  seven  nights 
over  rocks  and  through  thorns,  on  which  he  left  not  only 
shreds  of  his  garments,  but  even  of  his  skin  and  his  flesh. 
At  last  the  fly  settled  upon  the  roof  of  a  cow-keeper's  hut, 
•where  he  could  not  reach  it  (the  reason  of  this  is  not  told  us) ; 
and  as  he  had  no  other  method  of  dislodging  the  insect,  he  set 
fire  to  the  hut.  Then  the  saffron-coloured  fly  flew  off  again  ; 
and  he  continued  to  follow,  till  at  last  it  lighted  upon  a 
fennel-plant.  Again  he  found  himself  unable  to  reach  the 
object  of  his  pursuit,  for  fennel  is  inimical  to  all  enchanters. 
While  he  was  standing  in  dismay,  a  young  shepherd,  who 
was  pasturing  his  flocks  in  those  regions,  chanced  to  see  the 
beautiful  insect,  caught  it  in  his  cap,  and  was  about  to  carry 
it  home  with  him.  At  this  the  magician  was  enraged :  he 
followed  the  boy,  slew  him,  and  obtained  at  last  the  saffron- 
coloured  fly ;  but  before  he  could  seize  it  in  toe  proper  way, 
it  gave  his  hand  such  a  sting,  that  the  whole  remainder  of 
his  life  was  poisoned  in  consequence.  He  became  richer 
than  the  Labinas,  or  fairies  of  the  Gave ;  but  he  fell  sick,  as 
those  do  who  are  devoted  by  their  enemies  to  the  blessing  of 
St.  Sequaire,  which  dries  them  up.  And  at  last  he  died — as 
if  the  very  core  of  his  heart  had  been  stung  through  and 
through. 

Now,  Brittany  and  the  bordering  district  of  Maine  are  also 
rich,  not  only  in  fragments  and  traces  of  traditions  which  are 
less  fantastic,  it  is  true,  than  the  one  we  have  just  related, 
having  for  the  most  part  a  Druidical  air  about  them,  but  even 
up  to  our  own  time,  practical  attempts  to  obtain  such  en- 
chanted treasures  are  common  there.  .The  shepherds  of  the 
Pyrenees,  on  their  part,  never  think  of  making  search,  as  the 
very  use  of  gold  is  unknown  to  several  of  them. 

There  are  many  places,  it  is  true,  where  the  only  evidence 


THE  TREASURE-SEEKEU.  187 

in  favour  of  the  existence  of  buried  treasures  consists  in  the 
local  superstition  about  them ;  but  there  are  many  others, 
again,  which  possess  such  strong  presumptive  evidence  of  the 
fact,  that  the  higher  forms  of  mammon-worship  in  our  own 
day  have  not  disdained  to  concur  in  popular  and  superstitious 
researches. 

One  of  these  spots  is  a  hill,  or  high  mound  of  earth,  between 
Le  Mans  and  Mamers,  called  by  the  peasants  "La  Motte 
d'Yve,"  but  officially  named  Mount  Jallus.  Here,  in  olden 
times,  the  English  held  a  strong  position,  which  they  only 
evacuated  after  the  peace  of  Brettigny.  Upon  that  occasion, 
being  unable  to  carry  off  with  them  the  long-gathered  and 
costly  spoils  of  the  whole  country  round,  they  are  said  to  have 
buried  them  here. 

Since  then,  numberless  attempts  to  dig  out  these  treasures 
have  been  made  in  numberless  parts  of  the  hill ;  and  these 
diggings  have  been  more  or  less  deep,  according  to  the  means 
possessed  by  those  who,  having  been  stung  by  the  safFron- 
coloured  fly,  have  sought  their  fortune  here.  The  neighbour- 
ing village,  St.  Cosme,  is  avowedly  the  head-quarters  of  the 
treasure-seekers,  and  was  especially  adapted  to  their  reception. 
But  of  late,  when  even  English  companies,  and  masculine  as 
well  as  feminine  notabilities  of  the  July  government,  have 
taken  up  the  matter,  there  are  comforts  to  be  found  in  the 
village  inns  which  make  it  very  possible  to  spend  one's  money 
— if  not  usefully,  at  least  pleasantly  enough.  Magnetism, 
too,  has  played  its  part  here.  The  father  of  a  well-known 
actress  followed  the  directions  of  a  somnambulist  in  his  search 
for  treasures — and,  indeed,  with  greater  success  than  any 
hitherto  obtained.  It  is  true  that  he  sunk  some  thousand 
dollars  in  the  speculation,  and  in  a  few  days  received  in  return 
five  old  copper  coins  and  three  rusty  nails !  That  did  not, 
however,  prevent  his  imitators  from  seeking  the  same  spiritual 


188  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

counsel ;  and  a  somnambulist  is  now  one  of  the  indispensable 
personages  connected  with  the  digging  operations,  which  have 
since  that  time  been  carried  on  at  considerable  outlay. 

In  the  autumn  of  1844, 1  accepted  the  challenge  of  a  friend 
to  visit  these  works,  as  results  of  antiquarian  interest,  at  least, 
appeared  by  no  means  improbable. 

We  were  already  drawing  near  to  the  end  of  our  journey, 
when,  on  the  slope  of  one  of  the  shafts  near  the  roadside,  we 
remarked  a  man  lying  fast  asleep.  He  wore  the  peasant  dress 
of  the  district,  and  was  very  neatly  and  cleanly  attired.  In- 
stead of  a  stick,  he  held  in  his  hand  a  little  spade — one  of 
those  used  in  mole-catching.  My  companion  recognised  the 
sleeper,  and  said,  as  he  pointed  him  out  to  me — 

"That  is  one  of  the  most  remarkable  specimens  of  our 
country-people.  Jean  Marie  is  something  between  a  charla- 
tan and  a  sorcerer.  He  knows  all  sorts  of  secret  remedies, 
and  sells  talismans.  He  cures  all  manner  of  diseases,  both 
of  men  and  beasts,  exorcises  reptiles,  and  discovers  water- 
springs.  He  sells  love-potions  to  the  damsels  round,  and  con- 
trives to  transpose  himself  from  place  to  place  as  quick  as 
thought.  He  does  business  with  all  the  farmers  far  and  wide, 
and  every  year  buys  an  acre  of  land.  No  doubt  he  is  now 
on  one  of  his  rounds,  for  he  has  his  magic  pack  with  him,  I 
see." 

The  stranger  had  in  fact  a  leathern  bag,  or  pouch,  open  on 
his  knees :  he  seemed  to  have  been  rummaging  in  it  when 
sleep  overtook  him.  Curiosity  impelled  us  to  draw  nearer,  to 
investigate  his  mysterious  store ;  but  he  woke  up,  and  at  first 
looked  round  him  with  terror  and  suspicion.  But  as  soon  as 
he  recognised  my  companion,  he  at  once  became  composed ; 
and  having  hurriedly  concealed  his  knapsack,  he  stood  up 
and  greeted  us.  He  was  still  in  the  prime  of  life  and  strength  ; 
but  the  expression  of  his  face  was  rather  that  of  a  Norman 


THE  TREASURE-SEEKER.  189 

than  of  an  inhabitant  of  Maine — more  expressive  and  more 
jovial,  though  of  equal  cunning. 

It  so  happened  that  he  was  going  the  same  way  as  we 
were ;  and  as  he  stood  upon  tolerably  familiar  terms  with  my 
friend,  whom  I  shall  name  Charles,  he  was  easily  persuaded 
to  set  oflf  with  us.  His  next  destination  was  the  farm  of  the 
fat  Francis,  as  he  was  called — who  was  also,  as  it  appeared, 
a  public  character  in  these  parts.  As  we  were  starting,  a 
small  article  dropped  out  of  the  cunning  man's  store,  which  I 
picked  up  and  returned  to  him.  He  thanked  me,  and  said, 
not  without  some  embarrassment,  that  it  was  a  specimen  of 
corn  which  he  wished  to  show  to  Father  Francis. 

"  Is  it  not  rather  corn  prepared  for  the  mercurial  test,  old 
sorcerer?"  asked  Charles  with  a  laugh. 

Jean  Marie  smiled,  and  shrugged  his  shoulders  without 
answering.  It  was  unmistakeable  that  he  himself  doubted 
as  to  the  reality  of  his  own  arts  and  his  own  wisdom. 

Charles  then  gave  me  the  following  description  of  the  way 
in  which  the  price  of  corn  is  foretold. 

Twelve  grains  of  com  are,  with  all  manner  of  hocus-pocus, 
laid  in  a  row  upon  the  hearthstone,  before  a  very  hot  fire. 
Each  grain  signifies  a  month  in  the  year,  and  according  to 
the  way  in  which  the  increasing  heat  causes  some  of  them  to 
bound  backwards  or  forwards,  so  will  the  rise  or  fall  in  the 
price  of  corn  be. 

I  observed  that  the  custom  seemed  connected  with  Druid- 
ical  superstitions — an  idea  to  which  the  heathenism  of  Jean 
Marie  seemed  to  incline. 

"  Wisdom  is  the  gift  of  the  ancients,"  he  quietly  replied. 

"  This  sort  of  wisdom  comes  very  near  that  of  the  Evil 
One  1"  remarked  Charles. 

"And  what  of  that?"  rejoined  the  other,  with  a  smile. 
"  The  really  humble  are  those  who  do  not  deny  that  ho  is 


190  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

wiser  than  they.  The  devil  is  always  treated  like  a  beggar ; 
everybody  barks  after  him  in  order  to  pass  himself  off  as  a 
good  dog." 

We  soon  reached  the  Mount  Jallus,  where  our  way  diverged 
from  that  of  the  devil's  champion.  Our  expectations  concern- 
ing the  diggings  were  much  disappointed;  for  either  there 
really  was  nothing  to  show,  or  else  we  were  not  trusted.  The 
leading  engineer,  to  whom  we  had  an  introduction,  was  not 
on  the  spot,  and  so  we  soon  continued  our  way  to  St.  Cosme, 
where  we  hoped  to  find  him. 

But  there  too  we  missed  him  ;  and  the  aspect  of  the  village 
was  not  calculated  to  lessen  our  vexation.  It  was  a  genuine 
French  nest;  and  to  those  who  know  the  meaning  of  that 
phrase,  it  says  all  that  need  be  said.  Owing  to  the  utter 
absence  of  any  other  object  which  could  inspire  the  least  in- 
terest, or  afford  the  least  pleasure,  we  bestowed  our  attention 
upon  a  travelling  tinker,  who  was  carrying  on  his  trade  op- 
posite our  inn,  and  whose  whole  appearance  had  something 
picturesque  and  romantic  ;  provided  that  such  epithets  be  not 
denied  to  the  generality  of  Teniers'  paintings,  and  to  others 
of  the  Flemish  school. 

After  he  had  placed  his  furnace  in  the  proper  position,  he 
began  to  make  his  dinner  of  a  piece  of  black  bread  and  a 
couple  of  onions.  But  suddenly  he  started,  sprang  up,  and 
ran  off  into  a  by- street,  which  was  cut  short  by  a  low  wall. 
Here  he  stood  for  some  time  leaning  against  the  wall ;  then 
jumping  on  it,  he  looked  round  about  him  in  evident  excite- 
ment. At  length  he  returned,  downcast  and  murmuring  to 
himself.  We  had  been  throughout  unable  to  discover  any 
cause  for  this  sudden  emotion. 

Just  at  that  moment  our  host  entered,  and  we  asked  him 
who  the  man  was,  and  what  was  the  matter  with  him.  The 
host  shook  his  head,  as  he  answered  that  no  one  could  exactly 


THE  TREASUBE-SEEKER.  191 

tell,  unless  it  were  the  devil.  From  the  man  himself,  whose 
name  was  Claude,  no  answer  whatever  was  to  be  got  as  to  his 
family  or  his  circumstances.  Anyhow,  he  was  a  vagabond ; 
and  owing  to  his  ceaseless  wandering  about  the  country,  he 
had  had  the  name  of  Ze  Rouleur  given  him.  One  thing,  how- 
ever, was  certain — whenever  the  diggings  on  Motte  d' Yve  were 
set  agoing,  he  was  sure  to  be  there,  and  for  this  reason  people 
have  supposed  him  to  be  a  treasure-seeker,  and  half  a  sor- 
cerer. 

We  determined  that  we  would  try  our  luck  with  the  tinker, 
and  going  over  to  where  he  was,  we  tried  to  make  ourselves 
as  agreeable  as  we  possibly  could.  But  he  remained  grufi 
and  monosyllabic ;  either  looked  down  at  his  work,  or  cast 
sidelong  and  suspicious  glances  from  his  deep-set  black  eyes 
at  us.  And  yet  his  answers  always  had  a  meaning  at  bot- 
tom. 

"  You  must  find  it  hard  to  be  so  long  from  home  at  this 
season  of  the  year?"  I  suggested,  after  making  a  few  less 
direct  observations. 

"  He  who  IS  alone  in  the  world  is  at  home  everywhere," 
replied  he  with  a  bitter  smile. 

"  Then  you  really  are  always  on  the  move?" 

"  The  poor  must  go  wherever  he  can  find  sun  and  food." 

**  But  when  sickness  or  old  age  comes  ?" 

"  Then  one  does  as  wolves  do — one  lies  down  in  a  corner 
and  makes  an  end  of  it." 

So  we  went  on  for  a  while ;  and  Charles,  who  piqued  him- 
self not  a  little  upon  his  advocate's  skill  in  cross- questioning, 
did  not  make  much  further  progress. 

At  last,  it  chanced  that  I,  taking  it  for  granted  that  the 
tinker,  like  all  of  his  trade,  came  from  Auvergne,  began  to 
speak  to  him  about  that  province. 

"  I  am  no  Auvergnat,"  said  he  drily. 


192  BRITTANY  AKD  LA  VEND^fiE. 

"  Where,  then,  do  you  come  from  ?" 
At  first  he  was  silent,  and  then  muttered,  "  Berri." 
That  word  showed  that  we  had  won  the  game,  for  Charles 
himself  is  a  "  Berrichon  ;"  and  he  played  the  part  so  well,  ex- 
pressing, in  the  purest  and  most  horrible  patois  of  Issoudan,  so 
much  delight  at  meeting  a  countyman,*  that  old  Claude's 
frosty  demeanour  could  hold  out  no  longer,  especially  when  he 
found  that  my  friend  and  he  were  still  more  nearly  related,  as 
being  both  of  the  same  district  of  Morvan. 

It  was  not  long  before  we  were  all  three  sitting  around  a 
bottle  of  genuine  "  Berri,"  which  completely  unloosed  the 
poor  fellow's  tongue,  and  afforded  us  abundant  explanation  of 
his  strange  conduct,  which  rooted  entirely  in  the  popular  tra- 
ditions about  treasures  and  treasure-seekers.  With  him  tink- 
ering was  but  a  pretext  to  disguise  his  own  special  vocation, 
which  held  out  to  him,  as  an  inevitable  result,  the  obtaining 
of  countless  riches  by  digging  up  the  treasures  watched  over 
by  dragons  and  monsters  in  those  Men-Mrs  and  other  monu- 
ments, in  which  Brittany  and  the  neighbouring  Celtic  pro- 
vinces are  so  rich.  And,  moreover,  he  was  a  by  no  means 
raw  professor  of  mysterious  lore;  but  he  had,  with  the  help 
of  some  old  books,  devised  a  very  complicated  system  of  popii- 
lar  magic,  alchymy,  and  astrology,  in  all  which  he  believed 
as  devoutly  as  in  his  own  existence. 

The  chief  points  of  his  creed  regarding  treasures  were  as 
follows.  There  are  treasures  of  three  different  kinds :  the 
first  belong  to  the  Evil  One,  whom  he  always  called  le 
vilain  ;  the  second  to  the  dead ;  the  third  to  spirits,  to  fairies, 
and  to  such  of  the  defunct  as  he  designated  by  the  expression 
of  the  Summoned,  because  they  were  appointed  to  a  corporeal 

*  The  tie  of  feUow-provincial  is  much  more  warmly  acknowledged  in  France — and  not 
amongst  the  peasantry  alone — than  one  could  have  expected  firom  the  centralization  of 
the  whole  state. 


THE  TREASUKE-SEEKER.  193 

resurrection.  The  first  comprised  all  precious  stones,  as  well 
as  the  nobler  metals,  "which  had  not  seen  the  face  of  heaven  for 
more  than  a  hundred  years  ;  the  second  were  those  over  which 
a  living  being  had  been  slain,  and  over  which  his  spirit  kept 
watch  ;  the  third  were  treasures  which  had  been  hidden  by 
fairies,  spirits,  or  sorcerers.  The  discovery  and  the  raising  of 
these  three  different  kinds  must  be  carried  on  by  different 
ways  and  means.  With  the  Evil  One,  there  was  no  other 
way  of  dealing  than  by  entering  into  a  binding  contract,  con- 
cluded upon  a  cross  road,  and  at  midnight,  after  Master  Eobert 
— this,  it  seemed,  was  another  of  the  Great  Enemy's  names — 
had  been  solemnly  and  specially  invited,  with  all  the  cere- 
monies necessary  in  such  a  case. 

The  treasures  existing  under  the  guardianship  of  departed 
spirits  are  more  rare,  and  are,  besides,  most  difficult  to  obtain. 
The  living  creature  who  first  touches  them  must  inevitably 
die,  either  at  once,  or  in  the  course  of  the  year,  Tho  great 
point,  therefore,  in  this  case,  is  first  to  procure  rest  for  the 
troubled  spirit,  and  to  obtain  for  it  an  entrance  into  the 
realm  of  souls,  that  so  it  may  be  able  to  forsake  its  post. 

The  third  class  of  treasures  is  the  most  accessible.  An 
accident,  a  happy  meeting  with  one  of  the  possessors  or 
watchers  in  a  gracious  mood — whether  these  be  genii,  fairies, 
or  dragons — will  often  avail  to  open  out  endless  wealth  to 
some  fortunate  mortal.  Magic  and  the  art  of  conjuration, 
it  is  true,  offer  other  means  through  the  proper  use  of  which 
a  few  favoured  ones  may  with  greater  toil  attain  their  end. 
But  such  science  is  only  possessed  by  a  few,  and  is  fast  becom- 
ing more  and  more  rare.  One  way,  indeed,  of  breaking  the 
spell  which  renders  treasures  invisible,  is  to  induce  a  priest  to 
say  a  mass  backwards ;  but  then  it  is  scarcely  possible  in  these 
days  to  get  an  ordained  minister  to  commit  such  a  sacrilege. 

But  what  the  people  call  "  la  trive  de  la  nuit  de  Nob'l " 


194  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

(the  truce  of  Christmas-night),  affords  the  best  chance  of  all. 
And  on  this  point  the  -would-be  wonder-worker  adhered  as 
implicitly  to  the  old,  partly  Druidical,  partly  Christian,  tradi- 
tions current,  as  in  the  remainder  of  his  creed  he  was  content 
to  follow  the  grossest  follies  or  impostures  of  all  known  or  un- 
known Black  Art ;  or,  perhaps,  I  should  rather  say,  to  follow 
his  own  wild  fancies. 

The  night  then,  when  the  Saviour  of  the  world,  the  Prince 
of  Peace,  was  born,  or,  at  all  events,  the  hour  of  His  birth, 
affords  to  the  whole  world  a  sort  of  a  "  truce  of  God."  Al' 
laws  and'all  strife,  all  enmity  and  opposition  between  the  vi 
sible  and  invisible  worlds,  are  done  away  with  for  that  hour 
Love  and  Peace  alone  hold  sway  over  the  universe.  There  it 
no  wickedness,  no  transgression,  no  punishment !  The  in 
finite  burden  of  anguish  laid  upon  the  world,  is  for  a  seasor 
removed,  and  it  draws  a  long  breath  of  ecstasy  because  of  thif 
deliverance,  which  does  not,  however,  extend  beyond  midnight 
During  this  short  respite,  the  petrified  spirits  of  the  Men- 
hirs and  other  Druidical  remains,  rise  and  hurry  to  the  lake> 
to  quench  their  thirst,  and  to  bathe  therein.  So  the  treasuret 
that  they  guard,  remain  open  and  un watched.  It  is  the  samo 
with  the  dragons  and  serpents,  which  lay  aside  their  heavy 
carbuncle  crowns,  that  they  may  drink  of  the  running  brooks 
The  evil  spirits  have  neither  power  nor  will  to  injure.  Even 
animals  throw  off  the  curse  to  which  they  have  been  subjected 
by  the  guile  of  the  serpent ;  and  those  who  are  wont  to  fly 
from  or  devour  each  other,  now  meet  and  associate  harmlessly 
and  trustingly.  The  most  hidden  clefts  and  lowest  depths  of 
the  earth  open  out,  the  mountains  tremble  with  joy  and  display 
all  their  treasures  and  splendours,  as  in  spontaneous  and  loving 
subjection.  The  called  may  profit  by  these  moments,  but  wo 
to  him  who  has  not  carried  his  booty  to  soriie  place  of  security 
before  the  next  hour  strikes.    The  firing  of  the  cannon  which 


THE  TKEASUEE-SEEKER.  195 

announces  the  termination  of  the  midnight  mass,  is  the  sign  for 
the  renewing  of  the  great  conflict  between  the  visible  and  in- 
visible worlds.  The  .  evil  spirits  return  to  their  posts,  and 
should  they  find  the  treasure-seeker  still  there,  he  is  given  up 
to  their  power  till  the  day  of  judgment. 

Poor  Claude  had  now  lived  twenty  years  in  the  firm  hope 
of  profiting  by  this  interval  of  peace,  and  had  repeated  his 
attempts  every  Christmas-night,  now  here  and  now  there, 
throughout  the  whole  country,  without  ever  being  disconcerted 
by  their  want  of  success,  and  by  the  utter  absence  of  any  one 
experience,  any  one  appearance  which  could  confirm  his  pre- 
conceived notions.  With  steadfast  patience  he  counted  the 
days  till  the  next  Christmas-night  should  come  round. 

"  To-day  again,"  continued  he,  after  a  pause,  speaking 
rather  to  himself  than  to  us,  and  having  indeed,  as  it  appeared, 
completely  forgotten  our  presence  in  his  excitement ;  "  to-day 
again  I  have  had  a  sign." 

"When  you  ran  into  the  little  street,  eh?"  interposed  I, 
thoughtlessly  enough.  He  started,  looked  at  us  suspiciously, 
bit  his  lips,  and  said  in  a  changed  voice — 

"  So,  then,  the  gentlemen  observed  me  ?  Indeed,  indeed 
— well  then,  you  must  have  seen  too,  whether  it  really  did 
turn  up  the  street  or  not  ?" 

"  What  do  you  mean — it  f" 

"  Oh !  perhaps  the  gentlemen  believe  that  they  have  got 
hold  of  a  child,  and  are  asking  it  its  catechism  !"  he  now  ex- 
claimed, with  an  expression  of  the  greatest  bitterness,  as  he 
jumped  up.  All  our  attempts  to  calm  him,  to  regain  his  con- 
fidence, to  induce  him  to  speak,  were  perfectly  vain.  It  was 
only  by  the  ofifer  of  a  reward,  which  was  really  a  considerable 
one  for  him,  that  he  was  persuaded  to  act  as  our  guide  to  a 
neighbouring  village,  where  we  wished  to  visit  some  antiqui- 
ties, and  which,  moreover,  lay  in  the  direction  that,  as  we  had 


196  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

already  ascertained,  he  meant  to  take  this  very  evening.  I 
hoped  to  be  able  to  regain  onr  lost  ground  with  this  singular 
and  half-distracted  man. 

But  my  hopes  were  disappointed — Claude  remained  sullen 
and  silent.  After  a  while  we  reached  a  solitary  farm-house, 
which  Claude  announced  to  be  that  of  the  Fat  Francis,  whose 
name  we  had  already  heard.  A  party  of  peasants  in  the  im- 
mediate neighbourhood,  busy  with  rakes,  spades,  and  shovels, 
were  very  zealous,  and  loud  about  their  work.  One  of  them 
held  in  his  hand  a  fork- shaped  hazel-rod,  a  divining-rod  in 
short,  and  was  giving  directions,  and  answering  questions 
with  dignified  bearing,  and  solemn  gestures.  As  we  drew 
nearer,  we  recognised  Jean  Marie. 

"  The  mole-catcher!"  exclaimed  Charles  with  a  laugh. 

"  Not  at  this  moment  I "  put  in  Claude  ironically ;  "  he  is 
playing  a  higher  part  just  now ;  he  has  Aaron's  rod  in  his 
hand,  and  seems  to  be  looking  for  treasures  or — water,  the 
ignorant,  unbelieving  blockhead  that  he  is  !" 

I  beckoned  to  him  to  be  silent,  and,  hidden  behind  some 
bushes,  we  were  able  to  see  the  busy  group  quite  near, 

"  The  right  twig  gold,  the  left  iron — if  both  move,  water  ; " 
said  Jean  Marie,  as  he  walked  up  and  down  with  his  divin- 
ing-rod. The  peasants  followed  him  about,  with  every  token 
of  highly- wrought  expectation,  and  deep  wonder  and  reverence, 
not  unmixed  with  a  shade  of  fear,  for  the  marvels  that  were 
to  appear.  At  last,  and  close  to  where  we  were  standing,  the 
left  twig  was  seen  to  move ;  and  after  the  labourers  had,  at  the 
sorcerer's  bidding,  proceeded  to  dig  to  the  depth  of  about  two 
feet,  something  was  heard  to  ring  beneath  the  spade,  while 
he  stooped  down,  and  lifted  up  in  triumph  a  horse-shoe,  which 
the  bystanders  passed  from  hand  to  hand  in  amazement. 
Jean  Marie  then  went  on  to  a  place  where  flags  and  rushes 
grew  amongst  the  bushes. 


THE  TREASUEE-SEEKER.  197 

"  Dig  here  ! "  said  he  exultingly  ;  "  here  is  water  !" 

And  after  the  peasants  had  again  dug  about  two  feet  deep, 
a  spring  of  tolerably  clear  water  did  indeed  gush  forth. 

"  To  hide  and  then  find  a  horse-shoe,  to  discover  water 
where  rushes  grow,  that  is  the  extent  of  his  art,"  muttered 
Claude,  with  an  expression  of  conscious  superiority,  while  we 
advanced  and  saluted  the  water-finder.  Jean  Marie  was  evi- 
dently very  unpleasantly  affected  by  the  presence  of  Claude, 
though  he  did  not  venture  to  show  it  openly. 

It  was  evident,  indeed,  that  the  ragged  tinker  domineered 
over  the  well-to-do  quack.  He  answered  some  of  Claude's 
ironical  remarks  in  a  conciliatory  and  humble  manner,  but  it 
was  plain  that  he  felt  decidedly  relieved  when  we  urged  our 
guide  to  go  on  again,  and  thus  avoided  a  serious  dispute 
between  the  rival  magicians. 

But  Jean  Marie's  tactics  were  evidently  complicated  to  a 
degree  that  we  vainly  tried  to  unravel — for,  in  a  short  time, 
we  heard  him  calling  after  us ;  and  when,  after  a  rapid  run,  he 
came  up  with  us,  it  was  to  say  that  as  our  road  passed  quite 
close  by  his  house,  he  should  be  exceedingly  obliged  if  Master 
Claude  would  undertake  a  few  repairs  for  him.  It  is  possible 
that  he  wished  to  humble  the  man  whom  he  felt  to  be  his 
superior  in  mystic  lore,  by  calling  upon  him  thus  to  practise 
his  lowly  trade. 

But  be  that  as  it  might,  we  had  soon  reason  to  be  thankful 
for  this  political  measure.  For  scarcely  had  we  retraced  our 
steps  for  half  a  mile,  and  by  a  cross  road  approached  so  near 
Jean  Marie's  dwelling — they  call  such  hedged-in  portions  of 
land  Closeries — as  to  be  able  to  discern  its  roof  beneath  the 
surrounding  fruit-trees,  than  all  at  once  the  thunder-storm 
which  had  been  gathering  ever  since  noon,  burst  upon  us  with 
such  violence,  that  even  in  the  short  way  that  yet  remained, 
we  got  wet  to  the  knees    and  were  truly  glad  to  find  under 


198  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE, 

Jean  Marie's  roof,  a  shelter  from  the  hail  and:  raiil,  and  a 
cheerful  fire  at  which  to  dry  and  warm  ourselves. 

We,  or  rather  our  host,  were  welcomed  by  an  unfortunate 
idiotic,  wild-looking,  grown-up,  hut  dumb  female.  She  was 
sitting  upon  the  threshold,  her  tangled  hair  over  her  face, 
and  her  eyes  closed.  But  she  heard  us  at  some  distance, 
jumped  up,  and  on  seeing  first  of  all  only  my  friend  and  my- 
self— the  two  treasure-seekers  walking  together  behind — she 
ran  at  us  with  threatening  gestures  and  fierce  sounds.  But 
she  had  hardly  discovered  Jean  Marie  when  her  whole  being 
changed,  and  she  hastened  to  him,  jumped  several  times  around 
him,  laid  her  head  on  his  breast,  ran  on  before  him,  rubbed 
up  to  him,  and  finally  preceded  him  into  the  house.  There 
she  continued  to  make  the  strangest  gestures,  and  to  utter 
sounds  that  resembled  the  joyful  whining  of  a  faithful  dog. 

Jean  Marie  introduced  her  to  us  as  his  sister  Martha,  and 
returned  her  oft-repeated  manifestations  of  delight  at  his  return 
much  more  kindly  than  I  should  have  expected  from  him. 
He  praised  her  much  to  us  as  a  trustworthy,  and  able  guar- 
dian of  the  premises  in  his  absence,  careful  and  attentive  to 
her  brother's  comforts,  and  to  all  things  and  persons  which 
he  had  a  value  for. 

"  A  mother  always  thinks  her  last  child  beautiful,  and  I 
have  no  one  related  to  me  now  in  all  the  world,  except  my 
poor  Martha,"  observed  he,  as  if  apologetically ;  "  and  when  I 
come  home  in  the  evenings,  it  is  something  to  have  a  human 
being  there,  who  loves  and  welcomes  me.  And  we  under- 
stand each  other  capitally,  in  many  more  ways  than  you  could 
believe." 

It  soon  appeared  that  the  continuance  of  our  journey,  or 
our  return  to  St.  Cosme,  were  alike  out  of  the  question.  All 
the  fields  and  meadows,  roads  and  i)aths,  were  under  water  ; 
the  little  brook,  that  ran  past  the  house,  roared  down  the 


THE  TREASUEE-SEEKER.  199 

valley  like  a  mountain-torrent,  an<J  soon  swept  along  in  its 
course  fragments  of  the  bridges  it  had  destroyed.  Twilight 
too  had  closed  in,  and,  to  cut  the  matter  short,  we  could  not 
hope,  before  morning  broke,  to  take  a  hundred  steps  in  any 
direction  without  considerable  danger.  So  we  thankfully  ac- 
cepted the  invitation  of  Jean  Marie,  who  cordially  offered  us 
all  he  had  to  give,  namely,  a  fire,  bread,  wine,  and  some  clean 
straw  for  the  night.  We  accordingly  sat  down  to  table  com- 
fortably enough.  But  all  our  attempts  to  get  the  tinker  to 
thaw  again  proved  perfectly  useless.  Jean  Marie,  on  the  con- 
trary, had  almost  regained  his  cheerful,  confident  tone,  and  was, 
if  not  much  more  communicative,  at  least  a  great  deal  more 
talkative  than  his  rival.  Poor  Martha  crouched  down  on  the 
ground  beside  her  brother,  and  laid  her  head  upon  his  knee, 
like  a  tired  child.  Every  now  and  then  he  gave  her  a  mouth- 
ful, and  whenever  he  appeared  to  forget  her,  she  reminded 
him  of  her  presence  by  a  low  and  gentle  whine,  just  as  a  little 
dog  might  have  done.  At  times,  she  raised  her  head  and 
looked  steadfastly  at  her  brother,  and  then  a  lightning  flash 
of  conscious  affection  would  shine  out  from  her  expressionless, 
rolling,  light-blue  eyes.  Jean  Marie  seemed  to  take  pleasure 
in  speaking  of  her,  and  relating  how,  though  certainly  weak 
in  body  and  mind,  she  had  by  no  means  been  idiotic  up  to  her 
twelfth  year  ;  nay,  that  on  several  occasions,  her  love  for  her 
mother  and  her  brother  had  wonderfully  exalted  her  mental  and 
bodily  energies  ;  but  a  fire,  which  had  consumed  her  parents' 
house  by  night,  had  so  shaken  her  whole  being,  that  she  had 
become  what  we  saw  her  now.  Yet  she  had  still  some  inter- 
vals of  clearer  consciousness,  and  he  went  on  hoping  if  not  for 
a  cure,  yet  at  all  events,  for  some  alleviation  of  this  heavy 
trial. 

Claude  had  been  all  this  time  busy  with  a  couple  of  iron 
pots  which  were  given  him  to  tinker.     He  had  partaken  very 


200  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

moderately  of  the  repast  set  before  him,  and  had  taken  no  part 
in  the  conversation,  in  which  the  "  Eat-catcher,"  as  he  con- 
temptuously called  our  host,  had  displayed  a  very  good,  perhaps 
indeed  the  best  side  of  his  character.  Every  now  and  then 
Claude  fixed  his  gaze,  as  if  unconsciously,  upon  the  idiot,  with- 
out however  a  trace  of  the  interest  and  sympathy  which  the 
country  people  are  wont  to  show  towards  this  afflicted  class  of 
beings,  whom  they  call  "  Holy  Innocents."  After  some  time 
he  rose,  went  to  the  door,  looked  out  at  the  weather,  packed 
up  his  implements  in  his  basket,  and  took  hold  of  his  old  hat 
and  new  cudgel. 

"You  are  surely  not  going  further  to-night?"  asked  Jean 
Marie. 

"  About  two  good  miles  further,"  was  the  reply. 

"  If  the  son  of  your  father  is  in  his  right  mind,  he  will  put 
up  with  my  straw,  and  not  risk  his  neck  on" — 

"  The  son  of  my  mother  has  his  own  ideas  on  the  subject, 
and  knows  what  he  is  about,"  broke  in  his  gloomy  guest ;  and 
with  a  curt  leave-taking  he  prepared  to  depart.  Our  host  was 
evidently  more  occupied  by  curiosity  as  to  the  intentions  of 
his  mysterious  and  singular  fellow- treasure-seeker,  than  offend- 
ed by  the  incivility  of  his  manner.  Above  all  things,  he  seemed 
to  dread  any  open  rupture  with  him.  He  at  once  ofiered  him 
the  parting  cup  courteously  enough.  My  friend  laughingly 
expressed  his  good  wishes  for  the  traveller  in  the  words  of  the 
prayer  to  St.  Bon-sens  :  "  God  preserve  you  from  the  men  of 
the  court,  the  women  of  the  city,  and  the  wolves  of  the  field." 

"  "Well,  the  gentlemen  may  laugh  as  they  will,  but  let  me 
become  a  'Normand' — and  that  would  be  no  trifle  to  a  good 
'Manceau' — if  I  did  not  see  yesterday  a  wolf,  or  something 
worse,  near  this  cottage  of  mine.  I  ran  for  my  gim  and  fol- 
lowed the  creature  along  the  hedge.  Just  as  I  was  going  to 
make  a  hole  in  its  hide,  it  howled,  and  then  I  was  perplexed 


THE  TREASURE-SEEKER.  201 

as  to  whether,  after  all,  it  might  not  be  a  dog,  and  I  did  not 
fire.  And  yet  I  had  never  in  all  my  life  seen  a  dog  like  it ; 
so  I  aimed  again  ;  but  in  a  moment  it  vanished,  as  if  it  was 
bewitched,  as  if  the  earth  had  swallowed  it  up,  just  at  the  foot 
of  the  great  earth-mound  behind  the  garden." 

The  tinker,  who  was  just  setting  out,  suddenly  stood  as  still 
as  if  he  had  taken  root,  and  listened  with  intense  attention. 
He  instantly  put  several  rapid,  low,  and  to  us  scarcely  intel- 
legible  questions,  as  to  the  size  and  colour  of  the  animal — stood 
silent  for  a  moment,  as  if  lost  in  thought,  then  put  down  his 
basket  and  sat  down,  brooding  and  mute,  in  a  corner  of  the 
room.  We  had  had  our  overtures  repulsed  already  too  often 
by  the  surly  old  fellow,  so  we  took  no  further  notice  of  him  ; 
but  Jean  Marie  contemplated  him  with  growing  curiosity 
and  timid  reverence.  It  was  quite  evident  that  he  burned  to 
try  his  luck,  and  question  this  master-sorcerer  about  his  mys- 
teries ;  and  the  best  preparation  for  this  measure  seemed,  in 
his  opinion,  to  be  a  frequent  offer  of  the  "  fire-water,"  which 
he  had  taken  out  of  a  cupboard  in  the  wall,  to  pour  out  the 
parting  cup. 

We  were  unwilling  to  be  any  longer  in  the  way,  and  were, 
moreover,  tired  enough  ;  so  we  asked  to  be  shown  to  the  room 
where  we  were  to  pass  the  night.  It  opened  out  of  the 
kitchen,  or  parlour,  in  which  the  two  men  were  sitting.  I 
left  my  door  a  little  open,  that  I  might  watch  them,  for 
Claude's  demeanour  had  made  a  great  and  disagreeable  im- 
pression upon  me,  which  my  friend's  jokes  had  no  power  to 
remove.  I  had  certainly  no  fear  about  our  own  personal  safety ; 
but  I  had  a  presentiment  of  something  mysterious  and  horri- 
ble. However,  my  intention  of  watching  soon  subsided  into 
deep  and  heavy  sleep,  and  painful  dreams.  My  last  half- 
conscious  impression  was  of  an  eager,  low-toned  conversation 
between  the  two  treasure- seekers,  who  were  sitting  so  close 


202  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

together  that  their  bent  heads  almost  touched.  I  heard 
something  said  about  the  earth-dog  which  watches  treasures, 
and  then  I  dropped  off  to  sleep.  Again  I  thought  I  heard 
them  speak  of  some  sacrifice  that  would  be  necessary,  as  who- 
ever touched  the  treasure  first  would  be  lost.  The  heads  bent 
still  nearer;  Claude  hissed  something  in  the  ear  of  Jean 
Marie,  who  started  up  as  if  horrified.  I  tried  to  rouse  myself 
to  greater  attention,  but  it  was  in  vain,  for  sleep  utterly  over- 
came me. 

How  long  I  slept  I  do  not  know ;  but  I  plainly  heard  a 
rustling  at  our  door,  and  Jean  Marie's  voice,  saying — 

"  They  are  asleep ! " 

"It's  all  the  same,"  answered  another  voice,  and  I  heard 
the  key  turned. 

Then  Jean  Marie  called  Martha,  and  the  poor  thing  mur- 
mured, and  stretched  herself  as  she  awoke ;  but  no  sooner 
had  she  recognised  her  brother's  voice,  than  she  sprang  up 
with  her  loving  little  whine,  and  was  ready  to  do  anything 
that  he  might  point  out.  After  a  few  minutes'  delay,  the 
three  set  out  together.  At  first,  before  I  was  thoroughly 
awake,  I  had  the  impression  of  a  crime  about  to  be  perpe- 
trated ;  but  it  soon  occurred  to  me  that  there  could  be  no 
real  danger  to  Martha  in  any  part  that  the  stupid  superstition 
of  the  two  men  might  assign  her.  And  yet  there  was  some- 
thing horrible  in  reflecting  that  the  death  of  the  poor  idiot  had 
been  actually  decreed  in  the  mind  and  will  of  her  brother,  as 
the  price  to  be  paid  for  wealth.  So,  then,  the  tempter  had 
prevailed  over  the  best  feeling  of  his  nature,  over  the  genuine 
affection  he  felt  towards  the  helpless  sister  whose  whole  life 
seemed  to  consist  of  her  love  to  him. 

My  first  impulse  had  been  to  jump  up  and  prevent  the 
undertaking  of  these  men,  whatever  it  might  be.  Soon,  how- 
ever, succeeded  another — the  idle  curiosity,  or,  to  call  it  by  a 


THE  TREASURE-SEEKER.  203 

milder  name,  the  interest  I  took  in  this  aspect  of  popular  life, 
made  me  desiroxis  to  see  where  the  thing  would  end.  My  in- 
tention was  to  let  them  go  on,  and  then  to  creep  after  them 
with  my  comrade.  I  had  not  such  a  high  notion  of  the  old 
fortress  in  which  we  were  shut  up,  as  to  suppose  I  could  not 
force  the  lock  from  within ;  and  besides,  I  remembered  having 
seen  some  iron  tools  in  a  corner  of  the  room. 

As  soon  as  the  footsteps  and  voices  of  the  treasure-seekers 
had  passed  out  of  hearing,  I  jumped  up,  awoke  my  friend,  and 
informed  him  of  what  I  had  heard.  We  soon  set  to  work. 
But  the  task  was  more  diflBcult  than  I  had  supposed,  and  we 
lost  much  time  in  spite  of  vigorous  efforts,  till  at  last  we  de- 
termined by  the  help  of  an  iron  bar,  which  we  were  fortunate 
enough  to  find,  to  lift  the  door  off  its  hinges.  When  we  got 
out  we  looked  about  us  carefully,  in  order  to  find  out  the 
nearest  way  to  the  mound  of  earth,  of  which  Jean  Marie 
had  spoken  the  preceding  evening,  and  which  was  doubtless  to 
be  the  scene  of  their  great  operations.  The  morning  however 
was  just  beginning  to  break,  cold  and  gray,  and  we  felt  un- 
certain which  way  to  take. 

Suddenly  we  heard  a  hollow  crash,  and  then  a  piteous  cry. 
We  hurried  in  the  direction  whence  it  came,  and  had  hardly 
taken  two  hundred  steps  when  Jean  Marie  came  to  meet  us, 
carrying  his  poor  idiot  sister  in  his  arms.  He  was  in  a  state 
of  fearful  excitement.  "  The  old  quarry !"  he  gasped  out  as 
he  saw  us.  "  We  tried  to  widen  the  entrance.  Martha,  poor 
Martha !  the  whole  of  it  fell  upon  her !  make  way,  I  tell  you, 
make  way  I " 

He  rushed  past  us  to  the  house.  For  a  moment  we  doubted 
whether  it  might  not  be  right  to  apprehend  the  tinker,  as  we 
suspected  that  a  crime  had  been  committed.  But  Jean  Marie's 
cry  for  help  determined  us  to  hurry  at  once  to  him.  We  found 
him  busied  in  carefully  tending  the  poor  faithful  creature,  but 


204  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

himself  in  a  state  of  increasing  excitement.  When  we  entered, 
he  implored  our  assistance.  Alas  !  there  was  nothing  to  be 
rlone  !  Martha  lay  upon  the  hearth,  Avith  a  wide  gaping 
wound  in  her  head,  and  covered  with  blood,  "while  her  whole 
attitude  showed  that  her  limbs  were  fearfully  shattered. 

Our  efforts  and  the  administration  of  brandy  and  water,  at 
length  succeeded  in  rousing  her  for  a  moment  from  the  state 
of  torpor  in  which  at  first  Ave  had  found  her.  She  raised  her 
head  a  little,  and  opened  her  eyes.  Their  glance  had  no 
longer  a  trace  of  idiotcy — it  conveyed  the  full  expression  of 
conscious,  sorroAvful  love  and  deep  anxiety.  "Jean  Marie!" 
she  cried  in  a  Aveak  but  perfectly  distinct  voice.  When  her 
brother  heard  her  speak,  he  leaped  up  as  though  he  had  been 
struck  on  the  breast  with  a  red-hot  iron.  "  Did  you  hear 
that  ?"  exclaimed  he,  wringing  his  hands.  "  She  has  spoken, 
— now,  it  is  all  over  with  her  ! "  In  fact,  she  rapidly  relapsed 
into  a  swoon  ;  her  breath  became  fainter  and  fainter ;  a  few 
minutes  longer  and  the  death- convulsion  shook  her  feeble 
frame,  she  groaned  once  more,  moved  her  lips,  tried  to  raise 
her  head,  and  look  towards  the  side,  where  her  brother  was 
sitting  upon  the  hearth  petrified  with  grief;  then,  she  sank 
back,  and  all  was  over. 

What  had  we  any  longer  to  do  there  ?  What  help  could 
we  afford  to  the  living  or  the  dead  ?  Jean  Marie  did  not 
even  answer  any  of  the  short  attempts  at  consolation,  Avhich 
we  addressed  to  him.  Like  an  image  of  the  deepest  woe  and 
bitterest  remorse,  he  sat  by  the  corpse — his  eyes  riveted  on  it. 
He  took  no  further  notice  of  us  than  Avas  implied  in  a  hasty 
and  imploring  motion  toward  the  door.  We  obeyed  his  mute 
request  and  went  away,  fully  intending  to  send  all  necessary 
assistance  from  the  nearest  village. 

We  returned  by  the  way  we  had  come  the  day  before. 
After  a  few  minutes'  walking,  we  reached  a  place  where  the 


THE  TREASURE-SEEKER.  205 

road  was  covered  with  earth  and  stones.  This,  then,  was  evi- 
dently the  old  quarry  where  Martha  had  met  with  her  death. 
We  stood  still  for  a  moment,  and  saw  a  figure  crawl  out  of  a 
narrow  opening,  and,  passing  close  by  us,  disappear  in  the 
thick  brushwood  beyond.  We  could  not  mistake  the  dark 
face,  the  piercing  glance  of  the  tinker.  Yet  we  had  no  right, 
and  no  plea  for  detaining  him.  For  the  few  expressions  that 
Jean  Marie  had  used  touching  the  sad  occurrence,  proved 
that  it  had  been  owing  to  an  accident,  and  not,  in  the  ordinary 
acceptation  of  the  word,  to  a  crime. 

"  Has,  then,  the  death  of  that  harmless  innocent  been  power- 
less to  quench,  for  one  moment,  the  superstition  and  thirst  for 
gold  in  this  man's  heart?"  I  exclaimed,  shuddering. 

"  On  the  contrary,"  replied  my  companion,  "  she  was  the 
very  sacrifice  who  was  to  purchase  for  him  the  safe  approach 
to  the  long-sought  treasure." 

We  had  had  enough  of  treasiure  and  antiquity-seeking  for 
a  long  time  to  come,  and  returned  past  the  Motte  d'Yve  in 
much  graver  mood  than  that  in  which  we  had  first  seen  it. 


THE  GROACH  AND  THE  KAKOUS. 


DuRiKG  the  course  of  a  journey  upon  business,  that  led  me 
through  ancient  Brittany  in  183-,  I  happened  to  leave  Pon- 
trieux  rather  late  one  evening,  and  to  take  a  footpath  that  I 
was  tolerably  well  acquainted  with,  hoping  thus  to  reach 
Treguier  before  sunset.  But  I  had  much  miscalculated,  and 
before  I  was  half  way  it  was  already  fast  growing  dark.  In 
addition  to  this,  a  violent  snow-storm  came  on  just  as  I 
arrived  on  the  barren  plateaux  that  run  along  that  part  of  the 
coast.  As  their  steep  though  low  banks  of  rock  or  earth  are 
washed  by  the  sea,  it  may  well  be  conceived  that  the  storms 
from  the  north  or  west,  blowing  as  they  do  over  a  measureless 
expanse  of  ocean,  rage  over  these  plateaux  with  unresisted 
fury. 

At  first  I  felt  a  species  of  enjoyment  in  battling  with  the 
elements ;  but  very  soon  the  narrow  path  was  ankle-deep 
with  drifted  snow,  which  almost  threatened  to  cover  me  up, 
and  at  all  events  prevented  my  seeing  two  yards  before  me. 
It  is  true  that  the  moon  rose  early ;  but  the  wild  masses  of 
fast-flying  clouds,  and  the  thick  snow-fall,  only  confused  one's 


208  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VEND:fiE. 

senses  the  more,  seen  through  her  unsteady  light,  so  that  I 
could  hardly  conquer  a  tendency  to  vertigo  if  I  stood  still 
for  a  moment,  and  relaxed  the  full  stretch  of  ray  physical 
energies. 

However,  there  were  occasional  pauses  in  the  storm,  as 
though  it  were  taking  breath  for  new  outbursts  of  fury ;  and 
yet  these  short  respites  exercised  no  comforting  influence 
over  me.  They  were  either  broken  by  the  howling  of  wolves, 
or  by  other  less  easily  explained,  and  therefore  more  disquiet- 
ing night-sounds  of  nature ;  or  else  the  dashing  of  the  waves, 
■which  the  high  wind  had  excited  and  for  a  time  out-roared, 
or  the  rushing  of  a  swollen  stream,  broke  suddenly  upon  my 
ear,  reminding  me  of  the  nearness  of  danger  without  enabling 
me  to  distinguish  exactly  the  direction  in  which  it  lay.  If  I 
turned  my  back  to  the  storm  for  the  sake  of  an  instant's 
repose,  I  soon  lost  every  distinct  trace  of  the  path  I  ought  to 
take.  If  I  faced  the  wind  again,  that  afforded  me  no  cer- 
tainty of  being  in  the  right  way,  for  it  kept  shifting  con- 
stantly from  north  to  west. 

Fortunately,  a  little  footpath  that  I  at  last  followed,  led  me 
down  suddenly  into  a  narrow  dingle,  into  which  the  storm 
could  not  penetrate ;  and  while  it  roared  away  over  my  head, 
I  was  able  to  take  breath,  and  collect  my  scattered  senses.  By 
and  bye,  I  observed  at  a  distance  of  about  a  hundred  yards, 
in  a  broader  and  lower  part  of  the  dingle,  a  few  unsteady 
lights ;  and  going  towards  them,  I  soon  found  myself  at  the 
door  of  a  humble  hut,  which  stood  at  the  end  of  a  poor  little 
village,  whose  low  and  ancient  church-steeple,  lighted  up  by 
the  moonbeam,  was  visible  for  a  moment  through  the  driving 
snow. 

The  door  was  only  a  lean-to ;  and  on  pushing  it  open  and 
entering  the  cottage,  I  found  myself  in  one  of  Brittany's 
spinning-rooms.     About  twelve  women  were  sitting  round  a 


THE  GROACII  AND  THE  KAKOUS.  209 

bright  fire,  turning  tlieir  spindles  -witli  great  rapidity,  and 
shortening  the  time  now  with  talk,  and  now  with  song.  Some 
sleeping  children  lay  in  a  corner  of  the  room.  The  seat  best 
protected  from  smoke  and  draught  was  occupied  by  a  young 
woman,  who  was  suckling  a  baby,  and  singing  the  while  a 
wailing  nursery-song  in  an  under  tone. 

At  my  entrance,  every  face  was  turned  towards  me  with 
an  expression  of  mingled  anxiety  and  curiosity,  to  discover 
through  the  clouds  of  smoke,  and  by  the  fire's  unsteady  light, 
who  it  could  be  that  was  shaking  off  the  snow  from  his  coat, 
and  standing  stamping  upon  the  threshold. 

"  God's  blessing  rest  on  all  here  present,"  said  I,  in  con- 
formity to  the  custom  of  the  country. 

"And  on  the  stranger  as  well,"  answered  the  good  woman 
of  the  house,  rising,  and  advancing  to  meet  me. 

*'  There  is  a  shroud  over  the  heath,  and  even  the  wolves  are 
unable  to  find  out  their  lairs,"  I  continued,  as  I  approached 
the  fire. 

"  Houses  are  for  Christians,"  replied  she,  pointing  to  the 
warmest  seat  near  the  hearth,  which  was  immediately  ceded 
to  me,  "while  the  women  crowded  together. 

A  long  silence  succeeded ;  for  good  manners  in  Brittany 
forbid  that  the  guest  be  addressed  first,  or  plagued  with  ques- 
tions: people  wait  to  hear  what  he  may  have  to  say.  At 
length,  having  recovered  a  little  from  my  fatigue,  and  got 
warm  again,  I  inquired  how  far  I  still  was  from  Treguier. 

"  Three  long  miles  and  more,"  answered  the  country^voman  ; 
"  but  the  waters  are  out,  and  without  a  guide  you  could  not 
get  there  safely  even  by  daylight." 

Upon  my  asking  whether  it  would  not  be  possible  for  me 
to  procure  a  guide  from  the  village,  she  replied  with  a  deep 
sigh,  which  called  forth  more  than  one  echo — 

"  Our  husbands  are  at  Terre-neuve,  on  board  the  St.  Pierre." 


210  •  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

"AH  of  tbem?"  said  I  in  amazement. 

"All,  of  course.  Does  not  the  strange  gentleman  then 
know  that  it  is  the  custom  here  for  all  the  men  of  a  village 
to  sail  together  if  possible  ?  We  have  been  expecting  them 
every  day  for  the  last  eight  days." 

Some  of  the  other  women  now  began  to  speak  all  at  once, 
in  a  half  whisper,  and  in  most  melancholy  tones,  as  follows  : — 

"  God  be  with  them !  The  ships  from  Brabet,  from  St. 
Brieux,  have  already  returned  a  fortnight  past ;  it  is  only  the 
St.  Pierre  that  is  missing." 

"  And  yet  it  is  high  time  that  our  husbands  should  be 
back,  for  the  winter  sets  in  hard,  and  the  dear  time  begins." 

"  Our  little  bit  of  spinning  won't  last  us  much  longer,  even 
if  we  were  to  spin  till  our  fingers  bled." 

"  Only  ask  poor  Dinah  how  many  measures  of  barley  she 
still  has  in  her  chest  for  herself  and  her  baby." 

"  And  over  and  above  that,  she  owes  me  for  the  milk  she 
has  had  every  day  since  the  little  one's  birth." 

"  Dinah  may  well  pray  to  God  to  grant  a  good  haul  of  fish 
to  the  St.  Pierre,  to  enable  her  to  get  out  of  her  difSculties." 

"Why,  as  for  that,  she  ought  to  be  very  thankful  that 
hitherto  things  have  gone  much  better  with  her  than  she 
could  have  expected  or  deserved." 

There  was  in  the  tones  of  the  speakers,  and  indeed  in  their 
whole  bearing  towards  the  young  woman,  a  something  rather 
contemptuous,  which  surprised  me.  Dinah  evidently  felt  it. 
She  bent  down  over  her  child,  and  sobbed  out — "  I  pray  only 
that  God  may  preserve  my  husband." 

I  now  observed  her  more  closely.  In  spite  of  the  very 
poorest  clothing,  she  made  upon  me  the  impression  of  great 
and  rare  beauty— at  once  proud  and  somewhat  wild  in  cha- 
racter, and  yet  full  of  feminine  softness  and  grace. 

The  women  went  on  speaking  of  the  ship,  upon  which  all 


THE  GEOACU  AND  THE  KAKOUS.  211 

their  hopes  hung,  and  of  what  they  purposed  to  do  in  case  it 
returned  with  a  profitable  cargo. 

"  I  shall  go  to  the  town,"  said  one,  "  and  eat  my  fill  for 
once  of  whcaten  bread." 

"  My  brother  has  promised  me  a  silver  ring,"  said  another ; 
"  but  I  shall  not  have  one  under  thirty  francs." 

"  I  will  buy  a  couple  of  masses  for  the  soul  of  my  mother." 

"  I  have  vowed  one  to  the  honour  of  the  holy  St.  Anna." 

"  And  thou,  Dinah,"  asked  I,  turning  to  the  young  woman, 
"  what  wilt  thou  do  when  thy  husband  returns?" 

"I — I?"  answered  she,  as  if  timid  and  embarrassed.  "I 
will  lay  his  child  in  his  arms,  and  we  shall  be  together." 

At  this  moment,  a  cow,  which  occupied  a  partition  at  the 
back  of  the  cottage,  stretched  her  head  out,  and  lowed  three 
times  very  emphatically. 

"  Another  stranger  is  coming  here :  the  red  cow  knows 
what  she  is  about,"  observed  the  housewife. 

A  moment  later,  we  heard  heavy  steps  outside,  and  then 
came  a  loud  knocking,  and  a  rough  voice  said — 

"Is  there  any  room  in  this  house  for  the  poor?" 

"  Anaik  Timor! — the  GroachI"  exclaimed  all  the  women 
at  once,  with  an  unmistakable  expression  of  alarm  and  abhor- 
rence. Dinah  echoed  the  words  after  a  moment's  interval, 
and  said,  while  she  pressed  her  child  still  closer  to  her  breast 
— "  Anaik  Timor !     May  God  graciously  preserve  us  I" 

"Is  there,  then,  no  room  for  the  poor  in  this  house?"  the 
rough  voice  again  asked  in  a  still  harsher  tone. 

The  housewife  rose  reluctantly  and  opened  the  door.  In 
came  a  little  old  woman,  with  the  most  wretched  snow- covered 
rags  hanging  about  her,  and  exposing  to  view  her  thin,  dark, 
and  seemingly  smoke-dried  limbs.  She  carried  on  her  shoul- 
ders a  much-torn  bag,  out  of  which  projected  the  neck  of  a 
bottle,  the  nature  of  whose  contents  it  was  easy  to  guess  at. 


212  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VEND]fiE. 

Her  long  gray  bair  was  stiff  with  snow  and  frost.  She  carried 
a  long  and  strong  cudgel  in  lier  hand.  Her  face  was  so 
covered  with  a  net- work  of  deep  wrinkles,  that  its  original 
expression  could  hardly  be  traced.  Only,  her  green-gray  eyes 
showed  naingled  wickedness  and  cunning,  and  had  an  un- 
steady piercing  look,  which  seemed  the  effect  not  alone  of 
drink,  but  of  insanity. 

She  remained  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  room — if  the 
covered  space  deserved  the  name — shook  off  the  snow,  stamped 
with  her  stick  upon  the  floor,  and  threw  threatening  glances 
upon  the  circle  around  her. 

"  It  takes  time,  as  it  seems,  and  trouble  to  make  up  one's 
mind  to  open  the  door  to  old  Timor !  And  yet  the  weather 
outside  is  too  bad  to  turn  out  a  dog  in,"  said  she,  in  a  loud, 
sharp,  screeching  voice. 

After  some  apology  made  by  the  good  woman  of  the  house, 
she  continued — 

"  So,  then,  you  did  not  expect  me  ?  No,  indeed,  you  never 
expect  old  Timor.  What  do  you,  sitting  round  your  warm 
fire,  with  plenty  to  eat  and  drink,  care  for  those  who  are 
freezing  and  hungering  without?  But  patience,  I  say,  it  is 
not  yet  the  end  of  all  things,  and  who  knows  whose  turn  will 
come  next?" 

While  she  was  putting  her  bag  down,  and  finding  herself  a 
place  near  the  fire,  I  asked  some  of  the  women  about  her ; 
for  though  I  knew  what  respect  the  country  people  in  Brit- 
tany show  to  a  beggar  of  this  kind,  yet  there  was  a  something 
about  the  threatening  demeanour  of  this  uncanny  and  wretch- 
ed being  that  surprised  me.  My  questions  only  received  the 
following  words  in  reply,  and  they  were  whispered  in  fear  and 
trembling — 

"  She  is  a  Groach  ! — a  witch — a  wise  woman,  I  mean." 

As  the   old  woman  moved  towards  the  fire,   she  became 


THE  GEOACH  AND  THE  KAKOUS.  213 

aware  of  my  presence.  For  a  moment  she  seemed  rather  dis- 
mayed by  it ;  but  she  soon  recovered  herself,  and  said,  in  an 
almost  mocking  tone,  while  she  fixed  her  piercing  gaze  upon 
me — 

"Look  you,  now,  a  Tud-gentil — a  nobleman  !" 

It  is  thus  that  this  people  are  wont  to  call  every  townsman, 
or,  as  they  say,  every  gentleman.  I  must  here  remark,  that 
the  women  spoke  to  each  other  in  the  old  Armorican  dialect, 
taking  it  for  granted  that  I  did  not  understand  it.  To  me, 
however,  they  spoke  French  as  well  as  they  could. 

"A  nobleman  !"  continued  the  old  hag,  with  a  grin ;  "fine 
clothes,  watch,  chain,  ring,  and  all  I  Well,  Joan  Timor 
might  have  had  them  all  too,  if  he  had  liked ;  and  when  he 
was  alive,  Anaik  had  no  need  to  go  about  with  the  beggar's 
staff,  knocking  at  doors,  and  hearing  the  people  within  say- 
ing, '  The  old  witch  ! — God  be  gracious  to  us  !'  " 

She  then  began,  as  if  in  absence  of  mind,  to  hum  an  old 
song  about  the  Plague  of  Elliant,  while  she  cowered  almost 
in  the  fire,  till  I  really  expected  each  moment  to  see  her  dry, 
black,  and  claw-like  fingers  begin  to  blaze. 

She  had  for  some  time  been  looking  askance  at  Dinah,  who 
was  evidently  discomposed  by  this,  and  turned  away,  so  as  at 
least  to  shield  her  child  from  the  malignant  influence. 

"  So,  then,  Raven-eye,"  suddenly  screeched  out  the  old 
woman,  "  thoti  too  art  here !  How  comes  the  rope-maker's 
daughter  amongst  respectable  women  ?" 

The  poor  young  wife  grew  pale ;  and  I  now  understood  the 
ungraciousness  evinced  towards  her  by  the  rest  of  the  group. 
She  belonged,  then,  to  that  unfortunate  and  despised  race 
known  to  the  people  of  Brittany  as  Kakous.* 

*  The  Eakoua  of  Brittany  are  doubtless  etymologically  the  same  as  the  Cagots  of  the 
S}uth  of  France,  and  afford  the  same  difficulties  in  the  way  of  adequate  historical  ex- 
planation.   Ws  will  content  omvelTes  with  suggeeting  that  the  terms  Kakons  and 


214  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDl^E. 

"  You  are  mighty  proud,  Dinah,"  the  old  witch  went  on  ; 
"  and  all  because  a  young  fellow  of  pure  blood  has  thrown 
himself  away  upon  you,  and  you  happen  to  be  nursing  a  child 
of  his  at  your  breast.  But  I  too  have  had  husband  and 
children,  and  now  I  am  desolate  and  spurned  by  all  the  world. 
Wait  a  little,  thou  daughter  of  an  accursed  race  !  This  day 
year  I  foretold  that  this  would  be  a  black  day  to  thee.  The 
day  is  not  over  yet,  and  I  already  hear" — 

"Why  do  you  hate  me,  Anaik?  Why  do  you  persecute 
and  curse  me  ?  I  have  never  done  you  harm,"  broke  in  the 
poor  young  woman,  in  an  imploring  tone. 

"Why?  why?"  screamed  the  hag.  "Did  not  your  hus- 
band drive  me  out  of  your  house,  and  forbid  me  its  entrance, 
because  thou  hadst  complained  to  him  about  my  evil  eye,  and 
my  bad  words  ?  And  what  had  I  said  ?  I  had  only  called 
thee  a  rope-maker's  daughter ;  and  that  thou  art,  and  wilt 
remain.  But  wait  a  little,  and  you  too,  all  of  you,  who  took 
so  long  a  time  to  consider  whether  you  would  put  up  with  old 
Anaik  by  your  fireside,  or  leave  her  to  freeze  out  of  doors, 
your  punishment  is  coming  to  you  from  Treguier!" 

"  From  Treguier !"  exclaimed  several  voices.  "  Have  you 
been  speaking  to  any  one  from  thence  ?  Have  you  any 
tidings  of  the  St.  Pierre,  Anaik?" 

"  I  have  just  come  from  Treguier,  and  as  I  was  leaving,  a 
ship  had  just  come  in." 

"  Was  it  the  St.  Pierre,  Anaik  ?  Tell  us,  for  God's  sake  I " 
cried  the  poor  women,  springing  up  and  crowding  around  the 
old  woman,  who  seemed  to  delight  in  keeping  them  in  sus- 
pense, while  she  filled  her  short,  black  pipe,  and  looked  round 
the  circle  with  a  mocking  glance.     At  last -she.  replied — 

Cagots  may  have  served  originally  to  designate  an  oppressed  race— like  the  Helots  and 
Pariahs  of  other  countries.  This  expression  of  abhorrence  was  then  applied  to  lyiers, 
and  in  later  years  to  the  members  of  any  trade  or  pursuit  considered  ignoble  and  de- 
grading, as  was  the  case  in  Brittany  with  rope-making  and  coopering. 


THE  GROACH  AKD  THE  KAKOUS.  215 

"  No,  a  Saxon  ship." 

The  people  of  Brittany  still  call  the  English  "  Saxons." 

The  women  gave  vent  to  their  disappointment  in  loud 
lamentations  and  complaint. 

"  What  do  we  care  about  those  heretic  Saxons,  if  thou 
canst  tell  us  nothing  of  our  own  people  ?"  said  the  woman  of 
the  house,  at  length. 

"The  Saxons  came  from  Terre-Neuve,  too,"  continued 
Anaik,  in  a  tone  of  indifference. 

"  Then  they  had  perhaps  some  tidings  to  give  of  the  St. 
Pierre  ? — speak,  Anaik,"  implored  Dinah,  overcoming  her  re- 
pugnance, and,  with  gestures  of  entreaty,  approaching  the  old 
woman,  who  made  as  if  she  had  not  even  heard  the  question. 
But  when  all  the  rest  had  gathered  round  her,  she  fcegan 
slowly,  and  drop  by  drop,  to  distil  the  poison  she  had  prepared 
for  them. 

"  The  Saxons  told  of  floating  icebergs,  between  which  ships 
were  shivered  like  glass  !  They  had  heard  the  crash  of  one 
ship,  and  afterwards  seen  fragments  of  it  float  past  them  ;  and 
on  one  portion  of  a  mirror  there  was  the  name  to  be  read — 
what  was  it  that  the  Saxons  called  it  ?— anyhow  it  was  some 
saint  or  other.  I've  got  it  now — it  was  the  St.  Pierre  I  And 
there,  you  have  the  latest  uewsl"  said  she  in  conclusion,  in 
her  screeching  voice,  which  rose  above  the  tumult  of  grief 
which  suddenly  succeeded  to  the  deathlike  silence  in  which 
the  poor  women  had  been  listening.  The  name  of  the  ship 
fell  like  a  thunder-bolt  amongst  them.  The  spindles  fell 
from  their  hands,  and  for  a  moment  there  was  nothing  to  be 
heard  but  various  expressions  of  the  deepest  anguish,  so  loud 
and  violent,  that  every  individual  voice  was  lost  in  the  gene- 
ral wail.  Dinah  alone  knelt  silent  and  rigid  in  a  comer  of 
the  room,  hiding  her  face  upon  her  baby.   . 

I  looked  steadfastly  at  ^e  old  woman,  and  could  hardly 


216  BKITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

restrain  my  indignation  and  horror.  Her  malicious  grin,  and 
the  manner  in  whicli  she  shrank  from  my  gaze,  gave  me  the 
firm  impression  that  she  was  either  telling  a  positive  false- 
hood, or  at  all  events  making  the  very  worst  of  any  bad  news 
she  might  really  have  heard, 

"  You  are  drunk,  and  you  lie,  you  wicked  Groach  /"I  ex- 
claimed at  length,  losing  all  self-control.  "  The  St.  Pierre  is 
not  lost,  or  at  all  events  the  crew  is  saved." 

Upon  my  uttering  the  word  Groach^  which  in  Brittany  sig- 
nifies the  very  worst  species  of  witch,  her  eyes  flamed  with 
rage,  and  she  seemed  ready  to  spring  at  my  face  like  a  wild  cat. 
However,  she  contrived  to  compose  herfeelf  again  in  some  de- 
gree, and,  changing  at  once  her  mocking  expression  into  one 
of  forced  calmness  and  horrible  solemnity,  which  quite  subdued 
the  poor  women,  who,  in  their  deep  distress,  had  again  col- 
lected round  her,  wringing  their  hands,  or  convulsively  clasp- 
ing them  together,  she  proceeded  to  say — 

"  So,  then,  old  Anaik  is  drunken,  and  lies,  according  to  the 
learned  Tud-gentil!  And  he  has  heard  of  the  Groachs,  it 
seems,  and  thinks  that  poor  Anaik  must  be  one  of  them ! 
Well,  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  such  learned  gentlemen ; 
but  you  women  of  Loc-Evar,  you  yourselves  may  understand 
the  signs  that  are  sure  to  follow.  Just  notice  when  you  go 
to  bed,  whether  you  do  not  hear  the  salt  water  dropping  down 
on  the  head  of  the  bed ;  and  you  who  have  broken  the  three 
kings'  bread,*  you  may  look  and  see  whether  the  share  of  the 
drowned  has  not  become  mouldy.  Ay,  and  God  himself  will 
soon  show  you  whether  Anaik  Timor  is  a  liar  or  not — the 
dead  will  speak  for  themselves  and  for  me.     Listen  I" 

Even  I  could  hardly  withstand  the  uncanny  influence  of 

*  A  loaf  baked  on  the  6th  of  January,  the  day  observed  as  the  anniTcrsary  of  our  Lord's 
raceiving  the  homage  of  the  wise  men  of  the  East,  who,  in  Roman  Catholic  coimtrlea, 
are  known  under  the  name  of  The  Three  Kings. 


THE  GROACH  AND  THE  KAKOUS.  217 

these  words.  We  all  silently  listened  for  sounds  without, 
where  the  storm  had  burst  forth  with  fresh  fury. 

Whenever  there  was  a  moment's  pause  in  the  howling  of 
the  wind,  a  distant  and  solemn  dirge  might  be  heard,  ap- 
proaching nearer  and  nearer.  Soon  a  longer  interval  occurred, 
and  then  we  were  able  distinctly  to  hear  several  hollow  wail- 
ing voices  singing  an  ancient  litany  for  unhappy  souls,  which, 
in  the  language  of  Brittany,  ran  something  as  follows : — 

"Brothers,  parents,  friends,  children,  for  God's  sake  hear 
and  help  us !  Yes,  for  God's  sake,  if  still  there  be  pity  left 
on  earth  1 

"  Those  whom  we  have  nourished  have  forgotten  us,  those 
whom  we  have  loved  feel  no  compassion  for  us ! 

"  You  are  at  ease  and  in  comfort,  but  we  poor  souls  endure 
torment ;  you  sleep  refreshing  sleep,  but  we  poor  souls  wake 
in  bitter  pains  I  We  are  in  the  flames  of  agony  :  fire  on  our 
heads,  fire  under  our  feet,  fire  above,  fire  below !  Pray  for 
us  poor  souls!" 

During  this  dirge  the  women  had  fallen  upon  their  knees, 
and  through  very  horror  were  scarcely  able  to  utter  a  few 
ejaculatory  prayers.  And  I  confess  that  I  myself  was  for  a 
few  moments  painfully  struck  by  the  coincidence  of  the  old 
woman's  conjuration  with  this  ghostly  dirge.  However,  I 
soon  recovered  myself,  and  hurried  out  to  discover  the  true 
state  of  the  case.  But  the  snow  was  whirling  about  so 
thickly,  that  I  could  hardly  discover  even  near  objects  by 
the  moon's  unsteady  light,  and  after  a  few  steps  taken  at 
random,  I  was  glad  to  find  myself  in  the  cottage  again. 
There  was  no  longer  anything  to  be  heard.  When  I  re-entered, 
I  found  the  old  woman  standing  triumphant  in  tlie  midst 
of  the  miserable  circle,  and  she  at  once  exclaimed  contemp- 
tuously— 

"Now,  then,  who  has  lied?  who  is  drunken?    Has  tbo 


218  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDI^E. 

Tud-gentil  found  what  he  wanted  so  much  to  find,  or  has  he 
found  out  that  old  Anaik  has  spoken  the  truth?" 

I  answered,  in  some  confusion,  that  on  account  of  the  snow, 
I  had  been  unable  to  see  the  travellers  or  the  pilgrims  who 
had  without  doubt  just  passed  by,  but  that  the  sounds  could 
have  had  no  other  origin. 

"Keally,"  grinned  the  old  hag,  "travellers  or  pilgrims, 
nothing  more  !  What  do  people  in  towns  know  about  souls  ? 
The  townspeople  look  upon  their  dead  as  though  like  dogs 
they  rotted  in  the  holes  into  which  they  are  put,  and  there  was 
an  end  of  them.  Very  well,  very  well ;  the  Almighty  w^U 
show  the  heathens  by  and  bye  that  they  too  have  got  souls, 
and  then  the  gentleman  will  see  whether  those  were  not  the 
souls  of  the  men  drowned  in  the  St.  Pierre  who  passed  by  just 
now.     Ay,  he  will  soon  see  " — 

"  The  gentleman  wall  see  that  he  was  right,  and  that  Anaik 
Timor  has  lied,"  suddenly  interposed  a  grave  and  severe 
voice. 

I  looked  round :  a  priest  had  entered  the  cottage.  The 
women  sprang  up,  and  with  a  ray  of  joyful  veneration  on 
their  sorrowful  faces,  exclaimed — 

"  His  reverence !     God  bless  him ! " 

The  priest,  a  worthy,  dignified  man  in  appearance,  walked 
at  once  to  the  wicked  old  woman,  and  looking  keenly  at  her, 
asked,  in  a  tone  of  rebuke — 

"  What  are  you  doing  here,  Anaik  ?" 

"  And  why,"  answered  she  in  a  whining,  and  yet  half  de- 
fiant voice,  "why  should  not  the  poor  be  where  they  can 
reckon  upon  a  bit  of  bread  and  a  good  fire?  Are  we  not 
in  a  Christian  land,  and  may  I  not" — 

"Silence!"  broke  in  the  priest  with  severity.  "It  is  not 
hunger  that  brings  you  here,  but  revenge,  and  the  love  of 
giving  pain." 


THE  GROACH  AND  THE  KAKOUS.  219 

Then  turning  to  the  women,  he  continued  in  a  milder  tone 
— "  She  has  only  told  you  a  part  of  the  truth,  and  that  the 
worst  part.  It  is  true  that  the  English  ship  brought  tidings 
of  the  loss  of  the  St.  Pierre,  but  she  also  brought  with  her 
the  crew  which  she  saved, — at  least  the  greatest  part  of  the 
crew,"  added  he,  much  distressed  evidently  to  damp  the  over- 
flowing joy  with  which  the  word  saved  was  calculated  to 
inspire  the  poor  women. 

While  they,  tossed  about  as  they  were  by  hope  and  fear, 
pressed  round  him  with  lamentations  and  questions,  he  related 
briefly  that  six  of  the  men  had,  at  the  very  moment  of  the 
shipwreck,  agreed  in  vowing,  that  if  their  lives  were  spared, 
they  would  immediately  upon  their  landing,  without  having 
spoken  to  any  one  belonging  to  them,  or  given  them  a  sign 
of  recognition,  proceed  with  bare  feet,  and  with  heads  closely 
veiled,  to  hear  mass  in  the  village  church.  "  And,"  said  he 
in  conclusion,  "  you  have  just  heard  those  six  men  pass  by ; 
and  they  must  now  be  at  the  church,  where  I  am  going  to 
say  the  mass  for  them.  The  remainder  of  the  crew,  alasl 
are  drowned  I" 

The  women  could  scarcely  hear  him  to  the  end,  and  were 
about  to  rush  out,  each  hoping  to  find  her  husband  amongst 
the  six  saved.  But  the  priest  placed  himself  in  the  doorway, 
held  them  back,  and  sought  earnestly  and  kindly  to  make 
them  understand  what  a  sin  it  would  be  in  them  to  hinder 
their  husbands  in  the  performance  of  their  vow.  He  exhorted 
them  to  bear  the  torments  of  suspense  with  pious  resignation ; 
some  as  a  small  thank-ofiering  for  the  gracious  interposition 
of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  who  had  saved  those  who  turned  to  her 
in  faith — the  others,  as  a  punishment  of  their  sins,  to  which 
doubtless  belonged  some  neglect  of  the  reverence  due  from 
them  to  the  Queen  of  Heaven. 

But  flesh  and  blood  were  stronger  than  all  that  the  pious 


220  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

man  could  urge.  At  first  they  were  satisfied  to  besiege  the 
priest  with  questions — each  believing  that  they  could  discover 
in  his  looks,  if  not  in  his  words,  a  confirmation  of  their  fear 
or  their  hope.  But  when  he  remained  proof  against  ques- 
tions, prayers,  lamentations,  and  reproaches,  and  remained 
firm  in  his  priestly  duty — though  evidently  only  by  dint  of  a 
most  painful  efibrt — they  began  to  hurry  out  through  a  back 
door,  which  he  had  not  perceived. 

"  Go,  then !"  he  called  out  after  them,  really  angry  at  last, 
"  go,  and  desecrate  the  sanctity  of  a  vow  1  Chastisement 
will  surely  overtake  you  in  the  life  to  come ;  but  beware, 
moreover,  that  it  do  not  suddenly  fall  upon  you  here  1  Be- 
ware, lest  the  very  one  who  so  lawlessly  rushes  foremost  of 
all,  be  decreed  not  to  find  the  man  she  seeks  for  I " 

Dinah  was  the  one  who  had  hastened  on  in  advance  of  the 
others.  But  as  she  heard  these  words  spoken  she  suddenly 
stopped,  and  after  a  short  and  severe  mental  struggle,  turned 
round,  saying — 

"  No,  I  will  be  obedient — I  will  wait !" 

Her  example  had  a  powerful  influence  upon  the  remainder. 
They  all  turned  and  fell  on  their  knees  in  tearful  supplication, 
while  the  good  priest  once  more  affectionately  exhorted  them, 
that  each  should  bring  with  her  the  offering  of  self-sacrifice — 
that  each  should  look  upon  herself  as  already  a  widow,  or 
an  orphan,  that  so,  should  her  lost  one  be  given  back  again, 
she  might  the  more  deeply,  permanently,  and  practically  ac- 
knowledge and  adore  the  wonderful  goodness  of  the  Lord,  and 
the  mighty  intercession  of  His  Heavenly  Mother,  who  had 
herself  experienced  such  sorrows  thousandfold — a  sword  hav- 
ing pierced  through  her  heart  also. 

Having  thus  in  some  measure  succeeded  in  calming,  or  at 
all  events  subduing  them,  he  now  called  upon  them  to  follow 
him  to  the  church.     All  did  so  with  the  exception  of  Dinah, 


THE  GROACH  AND  THE  KAKOUS.  221 

who  remained  behind,  and  went  hurriedly  towards  old  Anaik, 
who  was  sitting  the  whole  time  by  the  fire,  and  seemed  quite 
indifferent  to  what  was  going  on. 

"You  know  who  are  saved,  and  who  are  lost,  Anaik?" 
asked  Dinah,  in  a  stifled  voice. 

"I? — how  should  I?"  muttered  the  old  woman.  "And 
even  if  I  did,  has  not  the  priest  commanded  you  to  wait?" 

"Does  my  John  live? — where  is  John?"  continued  the 
poor  thing,  in  increasing  excitement  and  distress. 

And  as  the  old  woman  remained  silent,  she  fell  down  at  her 
feet,  and  conjured  her  by  all  the  saints,  only  to  give  her  a 
sign  of  what  was  to  be  her  fate. 

"I  can  bear  all — all,  rather  than  this  horrible  suspense  !" 
she  repeated,  over  and  over  again,  almost  beside  herself. 

"  Well,  now,"  said  at  length  the  old  hag,  with  a  grin, 
"  what  wilt  thou  give  me  if  I  tell  thee  thy  fortune?" 

"  All — all  that  I  have,  except  my  child  ! "  cried  Dinah, 
with  one  arm  clasping  her  baby  so  tightly,  that  it  screamed, 
and  with  the  other  reaching  out  to  the  wicked  old  woman 
whatever  she  had  of  value,  as  she  believed.  "  There,  my 
rosary — my  cross  of  coral  and  ebony !  There,  there — my  sil- 
ver mourning-ring !" 

The  witch  the  while  shook  her  head  contemptuously,  and 
at  last  said — 

"  What  should  I  do  with  all  these  ?  I  like  thine  anguish 
better  1" 

At  that  moment  the  bell  rang  a  summons  to  mass,  and 
Dinah  sprang  up,  rushed  out,  and  flew  through  the  village  to 
the  church.     I  followed  her. 

The  whole  village  was  assembled  there,  in  deep  devotion — 
the  women  placed  nearest  the  altar.  A  few  sobs — a  few 
ejaculations  to  the  Virgin,  alone  interrupted  the  profound 
silence.     The  candles  were  burning  on  the  altar:   all  was 


222  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDl^E. 

ready.  Then  the  door  of  the  sacristy  opened,  and  the  priest 
came  out,  followed  by  six  figures  entirely  concealed  by  grave- 
clothes.  A  cry  of  sorrow,  impatience,  anguish,  rose  at  the 
sight,  succeeded  by  the  same  breathless  silence  as  before,  and 
the  sacred  ceremonial  proceeded  without  any  further  inter- 
ruption. It  was  an  impressive  spectacle,  this  victory  of  faith 
and  obedience  over  the  strongest  and  the  holiest  impulses  of 
nature. 

I  looked  round  for  Dinah.  She  knelt  at  the  entrance  of 
the  church,  with  upraised  face,  and  arms  drooping  nerveless 
down.  She  had  laid  her  little  baby  before  her  on  the  ground, 
like  a  sacrifice  that  neither  can  nor  wills  to  escape  from  the 
fatal  stroke. 

At  last  the  priest  pronounced  the  words,  7ie,  missa  est !  All 
crowded  at  once  in  fearful  excitement,  with  hearts  and  hands 
reaching  out  towards  the  altar,  where  stood  the  six  shrouded 
forms. 

"  Lift  up  your  souls  in  prayer  ! "  said  the  priest  solemnly, 
as  he  took  hold  of  one  of  the  six,  bade  him  rise,  and  brought 
him  forward,  his  grave-clothes  falling  down  as  he  moved.  A 
scream  of  rapture  rose,  and  a  wife  lay  sobbing  on  the  breast 
of  the  rescued  one.  So  it  went  on  throughout  the  number. 
The  excitement,  the  crowding,  the  exclamations  of  grief,  on 
the  other  hand,  grew  more  vehement  at  each  discovery.  The 
hopes  of  those  who  had  not  yet  found  their  supporter  grew 
ever  weaker  and  weaker. 

Again  I  looked  round  at  Dinah.  She  knelt  in  the  same 
position,  as  though  turned  to  stone. 

But  when  the  last  figure  had  risen,  when  the  last  shroud  had 
fallen  off,  and  her  John  had  not  stepped  forward,  she  silently 
sank  down  in  a  swoon,  and  had  to  be  carried  away  while  the 
congregation  was  dispersing — the  happy,  with  silent  joy  and 
tlianksgiving  ;  tlie  unhappy,  with  loud  weeping  and  wailing. 


THE  GROACH  AND  THE  KAKOUS.  223 

Yet  I  heard  no  imprecations,  no  expression  that  could  in  any- 
way weaken  the  impressiveness  of  the  whole  scene. 

I  betook  myself  to  the  priest's  house,  where  the  greater  part 
of  the  recent  widows  and  orphans  assembled.  With  much 
wisdom,  he  proffered  to  them  all  the  consolations  that  faith 
and  love  are  able  to  afibrd. 

The  following  morning  I  continued  my  journey.  The 
storm  had  raged  itself  to  rest ;  the  sun  shone  brightly  from 
out  the  blue  sky,  and  the  spring  seemed  suddenly  to  waken 
in  the  heart  of  nature,  in  trees,  and  plants,  and  little  merry 
birds. 

When  I  returned  by  the  same  road  a  few  days  later,  I  met, 
not  far  from  the  village,  a  very  poorly-dressed  woman, 
with  a  baby  in  her  arms,  a  bundle  on  her  back,  the  white 
beggar's  staff  in  her  hand,  and  her  head  sunk  low,  as  though 
she  were  walking  in  her  sleep.  It  was  Dinah  !  I  had  not 
the  heart  to  waken  her. 


THE  CHOUANS. 


I  HAD  long  made  it  a  matter  of  conscience  to  endeavour  to 
obtain  on  the  spot,  and  from  the  few  surviving  warriors,  the 
most  authentic  information  possible,  concerning  the  hitherto 
unnoticed,  or  mystified  beginnings  of  that  remarkable  episode 
in  the  great  and  deadly  struggle  of  old  against  new  France — 
the  Ckouannerie.  A  respectable  miller,  whose  little  property 
was  situated  on  the  confines  of  the  old  provinces  of  Bretagne 
and  Maine,  where  the  strife  was  for  the  most  part  carried  on, 
afforded  me  the  means  of  fulfilling  my  purpose.  Although, 
from  his  habits  of  mind,  even  more  than  from  his  age,  he  was 
himself  incapable  of  sharing,  or  even  of  understanding  my  in- 
terest, he  was  able  to  direct  me  to  those  who  could. 

He  came  some  little  distance  to  meet  me,  and  brought  me 
to  his  mill,  where  the  further  line  of  operations  was  to  be 
settled  between  us.  As  we  drew  near  to  the  house,  we  saw  a 
young  man  occupied  about  one  of  the  sluices  by  which  the 
water  of  the  main  wheel  was  cither  supplied  or  let  off.  On 
my  asking  about  the  lad,  whose  manner  pleased  me,  the  miller 
laughed,  and  said — 


226  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

"  That  is  Pierre,  my  only  son  and  heir.  He  takes  charge 
of  his  grandmother." 

This  was  said  in  a  tone  that  invited  further  question,  as 
though  to  bring  in  some  jest,  or  anecdote,  and,  in  reply  to  my 
further  inquiries,  he  added — 

"  We  call  the  great  sluice  the  grandmother,  because  it 
supplies  us  all  with  bread ;  but  the  boy,  moreover,  has  to 
thank  that  sluice  that  he  did  not  swallow  his  last  crust  some 
ten  years  ago.  The  thing  happened  thus  :  I  was  standing 
here,  by  the  sluice,  and  the  water  was  let  off,  as  there  was 
not  much  to  be  done  just  then,  when  suddenly,  splash !  and 
there  was  the  boy  in  the  deepest  part  of  the  stream.  He  had 
fallen  over  the  steep  bank,  and  I  saw  two  legs  above  the 
water,  and  then  nothing.  I  considered — for  action  without 
consideration  brings  no  good ; — so  I  said  to  myself,  '  Before 
thou  couldst  find  a  pole  long  enough  to  reach  the  bottom — 
before  thou  couldst  find  the  boy,  even  if  thou  wert  to  jump  in 
after  him — and  thou  canst  swim  like  a  pair  of  shears — the  lad 
is  drowned,  so' — in  short,  sir,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  I 
opened  the  sluice,  and  the  water  rushed  out  like  a  mountain 
torrent  in  spring,  while  I  stood  upon  the  watch,  holding  by 
my  left  hand  to  that  beam,  as  I  hung  over  the  foaming  water- 
fall ready  for  a  grasp  with  my  right.  And  sure  enough,  in  a 
few  seconds,  I  sawa  dark  object  floating  in  the  green  and 
turbid  waters.  Quick  as  thought,  I  seized  it  as  it  was  rush- 
ing onward  to  the  great  wheel,  and  drew  out  my  Pierre  by 
the  hair  of  his  head ! " 

"  But  suppose  you  had  missed  your  grasp  ?" 

"  Ay,  suppose!"  he  rejoined  with  a  short  laugh,  and  then 
resumed  seriously,  "  in  that  case,  the  next  moment  would 
have  seen  him  torn  and  crushed  in  the  wheel,  and  me  too, 
sir." 

I  have  given  this  little  incident  rather  as  affording  an  apt 


THE  CHOUANS.  227 

illustration  of  the  peculiar  kind  of  courage  and  decision  Ly 
■which  the  Manceau  and  the  French  Breton  are  distinguished 
from  the  Arniorican  on  the  one  hand,  and  from  the  Vendean 
on  the  other,  than  from  any  special  importance  of  its  own. 
The  three  races  are  alike  characterized  by  courage  of  the 
highest  orde/ ;  but  the  courage  of  the  Manceau  is  cool  and 
calcylating,  and  has  regard,  not  only  to  the  end,  but  the 
means ;  that  of  the  Vendean,  when  once  aroused,  is  brilliant 
and  joyous;  while  the  courage  of  the  genuine  Breton  is  of 
darker,  sterner  mood.  These  distinctions  carry  weight  in  a 
struggle  which,  being  one  of  old  nationalities  against  all-level- 
ling revolution — a  struggle  for  religion,  superstitions,  customs, 
privileges,  and  freedom,  necessarily  brought  out  all  the  pecu- 
liarities of  individual  character. 

I  soon  saw  that  to  gain  the  friendship  of  the  only  surviving 
bi'other-in-arms  of  the  celebrated  Jean  Cottereau  Chouan,  was 
the  most  likely  means  of  accomplishing  my  purpose.  Ever 
since  the  war,  this  man  had  been  known  in  the  country  by  the 
name  of  Va-de-bon-cceur ;  and  he  was  now  settled  within 
about  six  miles  of  the  mill. 

"  He  will  tell  you  stories  by  the  hour,  if  you  can  but  once 
set  him  .ngoing ;  but  he  is  suspicious  of  strangers,  at  least  of 
such  as  arc  called  gentlemen.  He  ever  remembers  that  he 
might  even  now  be  called  to  account  for  the  past.  And, 
moreover,  you  will  soon  see  that  he  is  fast  becoming  childish  ; 
he  is  generally  to  be  found  sitting  before  his  door,  knitting 
garters,  and  teaching  the  children  prayers  and  the  catechism. 
To  look  upon  him  now,  it  is  hard  to  believe  that  he  is  the 
man  who  stopped  Diligences,  shot  Patauds,  as  the  patriots 
were  called,  and  tied  tricolour  cockades  to  the  dogs'  tails. 
And  mind,  if  you  would  bring  him  to  speech,  don't  be  hasty, 
but  take  time  and  a  key  to  open  the  old  man's  heart ;  and  the 
best  key  you  can  take  is  a  bottle  of  genuine  Cognac.     And 


228  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VEND]£e. 

now,  my  char-d-banc  is  ready,  and  we  will  start  for  Boutiere 
without  further  delay." 

This  was  the  name  of  the  farm-house  where  the  venerable 
Chouan  lived.  The  road  lay  through  deep,  shady  lanes,  and 
the  overhanging  branches  were  tipped  with  ears  of  corn,  the 
tribute  of  the  lofty-loaded  harvest-waggons,  as  they  passed 
beneath.  On  either  side  of  the  high  hedges  resounded  the 
cheerful  voices  of  the  harvesters,  or  the  monotonous  and  regu- 
lar strokes  of  the  flail.  But  we  saw  nothing  for  half  an  hour 
together,  save  now  and  then,  on  a  bank  by  the  wayside,  a 
little  girl  leading  a  cow,  as  it  fed  on  the  short,  succulent 
grass,  or  chewed  the  cud,  and  turned  from  its  meditations  to 
gaze  at  us. 

As  we  approached  a  cross-way,  I  was  struck  by  the  impos- 
ing and  picturesque  effect  of  a  hollow  tree,  of  vast  circumfer- 
ence, and  graced  by  a  sprouting  coronal  of  freshest  green,  that 
stood  in  the  centre.  Against  the  open  side  a  crucifix  was 
nailed,  and  before  this  a  peasant  girl  was  kneeling  at  her 
prayers.  My  conductor  told  me  that  the  Chouans  had  found 
their  best  hiding-places  in  these  hollow  trees,  and  that  a 
skeleton  had  been  discovered  in  this,  in  the  course  of  the  last 
few  years — the  rusty  musket  still  resting  in  the  bony  hand. 
"  Whether  the  poor  fellow  did  not  find  it  so  easy  to  get  out 
as  in,  and  so  died  of  hunger ;  whether  he  had  crept  there  for 
safety  after  a  defeat,  and  had  bled  to  death  from  his  wounds  ; 
or  whether  the  Blues  had  killed  the  badger  in  his  hole,  can  no 
man  tell.  However  it  might  be,  the  priests  made  no  difficulty 
about  finding  him  a  grave  in  consecrated  ground,  where  they 
buried  him  with  distinguished  honours,  and  then  placed  a 
crucifix  here  for  offerings  of  four  sous.  Not  a  peasant  passes 
without  lifting  his  hat,  and  as  to  the  women — the  white-caps, 
as  we  call  them,  on  accoimt  of  their  head-dresses — they  make 
fv  regular  chapel  of  the  gnarled  and  shattered  oak. 


THE  CHOUANS.  229 

"  But  yonder,"  he  exclaimed,  breaking  off  abniptly,  "  is 
Marie  Cottereau,  a  direct  descendant  of  the  old  hero  whose 
track  you  are  upon,  sir.  Marie  !  Marie  !"  he  shouted,  "  you've 
said  paters  enow,  and  are  sharp  enough ;  here  is  a  strange 
gentleman  who  wants  to  speak  to  you,  my  young  white-cap !" 

But  the  girl  continued  her  devotions  as  though  she  heard 
not. 

"  Her  hearing  is  just  like  the  mole's,  but  there  must  be 
some  special  reason — it's  the  way  with  those  people.  Marie  ! 
Marie !  the  gentleman  declares  you  are  the  prettiest  girl  he 
saw  in  the  church,  and  he's  come  on  purpose  to  speak  to  you, 
my  angel !" 

Still  Marie  prayed  on. 

"  Ah,  I  have  you  now !"  said  the  tempter,  in  a  half  whis- 
per ;  then  aloud — "  I  have  brought  you  the  ten  francs  owing 
to  you  at  our  last  reckoning." 

A  slight  nod  was  the  only  rejoinder,  and  it  was  plain  that 
the  case  was  hopeless. 

"  Since  she  is  deaf  to  the  ten  francs,  there  is  nothing  to  be 
done  with  her,"  said  the  miller,  driving  away.  "  The  little 
stubborn  maiden  is  a  worthy  grandchild  of  the  widow  of  les 
Foiriers." 

To  my  inquiries  about  this  personage,  he  replied  thus — 

"  You  know  our  custom  of  calling  people  by  the  name  of 
the  farm  they  ctiltivatc;  that  of  the  widow  Cottereau  was 
called  les  Poiriers.  Have  you  never  heard  of  the  old  woman  ? 
Then  I  can  tell  you  somewhat  concerning  her,  for  my  uncle 
was  notary  at  Port-Brillet,  and  did  business  for  the  Cotte- 
reaux.  He  used  to  say,  in  his  learned  way,  that  the  widow 
of  Poiriers  was  a  genuine  Roman.  As  for  myself,  I  have  no 
personal  acquaintance  with  these  folk,  but  he  has  told  me  the 
story  a  hundred  times.  We  will  get  up  the  hill  first,  where 
the  road  is  better." 


230  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDISe. 

When  we  were  again  on  level  ground,  he  settled  himself 
comfortably  in  his  seat,  and  then  proceeded  with  his  narra- 
tive— 

"  You  must  know  first,  that  the  Cottereaux*  were  wood- 
workers from  generation  to  generation — the  people  who  make 
our  great  wooden  shoes,  and  all  sorts  of  iitensils  besides — 
living  in  huts  in  the  heart  of  the  forests.  They  have  neither 
doctors  nor  priests  among  them  ;  and  in  winter  they  add  the 
business  of  smuggling  salt  to  their  wood-work.  The  great 
salt  sack,  and  the  long  iron-shod  staiF,  for  the  Gdbeloux,-x  and 
to  mark  a  grave,  are  regularly  transmitted  from  father  to  son. 
You  may  imagine  what  a  charming,  orderly,  well-conducted 
race  these  night-birds  brought  up.  They  were  called  Chouins, 
from  a  kind  of  night-owl  common  in  those  parts,  and  the 
gentlemen  of  the  press  have  made  this  into  Chouans. 

"  The  husband  of  our  Koman  was,  however,  a  trifle  more 
civilized  than  his  neighbours.  He  had  learnt  to  read, 
Heaven  knows  how  !  and  used  on  Sundays  to  come  round  to 
the  farm-houses,  and  read  to  the  farmers  the  legends  of  the 
saints,  while  he  taught  the  little  ones  Christmas  carols.  It 
was  thus  that  he  became  acquainted  with  Jeanne  Mayne,  the 
daughter  of  a  wealthy  farmer,  and  soon  married  her. 

"  Jeanne's  father,  however,  was  one  of  the  old  stamp,  and 
vowed  that  no  man  should  marry  his  daughter  who  would  not 
follow  the  plough  and  till  the  land,  as  her  ancestors  had  done 
ever  since  the  days  of  good  King  Dagobert. 

"  The  daughter  said  not  a  word,  but  on  the  third  morn  she 
was  off  and  away  ;  and  in  token  that  she  had  no  purpose  of 

*  It  is  well  known  that  the  troops  of  the  French  Condottieri  of  the  fifteenth  century, 
who  for  a  long  period  had  possession  of  this  country,  laying  every  one  under  contribu- 
tion, and  everywhere  spreading  terror,  were  called  Cottereaux.  It  is  not  improbable 
that  the  first  Chouans  were  their  descendants,  and  this  may  account  for  their  proud, 
warlike  spirit. 

t  The  officers  who  coUectod  the  salt-duty. 


THE  CHOUANS.  231 

returning,  her  distaff  and  her  trencher  lay  broken  on  the 
threshold. 

"  She  came  to  the  forest  of  Concise,  where  Cottereau  had 
reared  his  hut,  and  declared  that  she  was  his.  The  next 
thing  was  the  church  and  the  wedding ;  and  they  set  off  to- 
gether to  Saint  Ouen-des-Toits,  the  bride's  parish.  When 
they  got  there,  Jeanne  advanced  first  into  the  church  to  get 
speech  of  the  priest,  but  as  she  entered,  he  stood  up  in  the 
pulpit  and  began  to  read  the  monitoire*  After  admonishing 
certain  persons  who  had  neglected  mass,  or  profaned  saints' 
days  and  Sundays,  and  so  forth,  he  mentioned  a  maiden  who 
had  forsaken  her  home  and  her  parents  to  follow  a  man,  there- 
by bringing  trouble  and  distress  upon  them,  and  a  grievous 
scandal  on  the  parish  ;  he  therefore  admonished  her  to  make 
confession  of  her  sin  in  the  face  of  the  congregation,  and  then 
to  return  to  her  parents,  under  pain  of  excommunication. 
Jeanne,  who,  up  to  this  point,  had  been  kneeling  with  her 
head  down,  in  order  that  she  might  not  be  known  among  the 
rest  of  the  women,  now  arose  and  said  her  confiteor  in  a  clear 
and  steady  voice,  quite  unabashed. 

"  Great  was  the  sensation  ;  and  the  priest  himself  was  at 
first  doubtful  how  he  should  receive  this  extraordinary  confes- 
sion, and  whether  he  should  not  meet  it  with  rebuke.  But 
Jeanne  spoke  him  so  fair,  that  all  the  womankind  began 
to  wail,  even  those  of  her  own  family  ;  and  even  the  heads  of 
the  house  either  could  not,  or  would  not,  bring  anything 
against  her.  So  the  good  man  commended  her  to  the  prayers 
of  the  congregation,  and  adjourned  further  proceedings.  The 
further  proceeding,  however,  was  that  he  took  her  that  even- 

•  Before  the  Revolution,  It  was  the  custom  in  western  France  for  tiie  priest  to  pro- 
claim monitions  imonitoire\  from  the  pulpit  against  all  such  offences  and  omissions  as 
came  before  hira.  The  name  was  not  mentioned  on  the  first  time  of  reading,  but  the 
culprits  were  Invited  to  confession,  repentance,  and  amendment,  under  pain  of  Church 
ceosuN^. 


232  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDJ^E. 

ino-  to  liis  own  house,  and  there,  in  the  stillness  of  the  night, 
pronounced  the  nuptial  benediction  over  her  and  her  Cotte- 
reau,  and  gave  her  a  fine  Latin  certificate,  so  that  nobody 
could  trouble  her  any  more.  She  lived  on  tolerable  terms 
with  her  parents  afterwards,  and  at  their  decease  succeeded  to 
les  Poiriers,  as  her  share  of  the  inheritance.  On  the  death  of 
her  husband,  she  came  to  live  there.  He  was  a  serious  and 
somewhat  austere  but  a  good  man  ;  and  they  had  lived  hap- 
pily together,  and  had  had  two  daughters  and  four  sons,  Jean 
Chouan  being  one  of  them. 

"Long  before  he  began  his  dance  aft^r  the  Blues,  Jean 
Chouan  was  known  as  the  boldest  and  bravest  salt-smuggler 
in  the  whole  country  ;  and  this  you  may  have  proof  of  if  you 
choose  to  listen  to  it  in  the  Chant  du  jeune  Gas-menton*  still 
sung  in  our  streets  and  fields.  This  was  the  name  by  which 
he  was  more  generally  known  than  by  his  own.  He  had  ac- 
quired it  on  account  of  the  cunning  with  which  he  was  wont 
to  deceive  the  custom-house  officers,  beguiling  them  with  fair 
words  and  specious  pretexts,  and  all  the  while  leading  them 
astray.  Thus  whatever  the  dilemma,  he  used  to  say, '  There's 
no  fear ; '  and  this  became  his  byword  whenever  dangers  or 
difficulties  were  started  in  his  presence.  On  one  occasion, 
when  he  heard  that  the  officers  of  justice  were  coming  to  seize 
his  goods  on  account  of  a  fine  that  he  had  inctirred,  he  first 
bestowed  all  his  moveables  with  his  neighbours,  and  then, 
finding  the  representatives  of  the  law  preparing  to  unroof  the 
house  for  the  sake  of  the  tiles,  he  returned,  and,  no  wise 
angered,  courteously  profiered  his  services  at  the  price  of  a 
dram.  When  evening  came,  and  he  had  finished  his  task,  he 
invited  the  officers  to  come  and  see  that  all  was  right,  telling 
them  that  he  had  laid  the  tiles  in  order  in  the  kitchen.  No 
sooner  had  they  entered,  than,  locking  the  door  from  without, 

•  Literally,  "  Lying  fellow." 


THE  CHOUANS.  233 

he  wished  them  a  good  evening,  and  a  pleasant  experience 
of  a  night  of  storm  and  snow  in  a  roofless  hut,  as  he  thought 
it  might  he  turned  to  good  account  by  persons  who  went  about 
unroofing  tenements  professionally.  On  this,  he  went  his  way, 
leaving  them  to  bluster  and  swear  at  their  leisure. 

"  But  it  was  a  losing  game.  He  and  his  brothers  were 
brought  down  with  repeated  fines  and  imprisonments ;  and, 
exasperated  by  these,  they  became  reckless  and  desperate, 
and  were  hunted  like  foxes  by  the  custom-house  officers. 

"  One  night  they  were  caught,  with  half  a  dozen  other  wild 
lads,  all  laden  with  salt,  and  leaping-poles  in  hand,  so  that 
escape  w-as  impossible.  Jean  fell  upon  the  little  Pierre,  as 
one  of  the  officers  was  called,  and  dealt  him  a  fatal  blow  with 
his  long  pole,  and  the  rest  took  advantage  of  the  scuffle  to 
get  away  with  their  booty.  Great  fear  now  fell  upon  the 
smuggling  community — for  an  outrage  such  as  this  was  of  rare 
occurrence — and  the  general  feeling  was,  that  the  offender 
should  make  for  Brittany,  and  keep  quiet  there  till  the  affair 
had  blown  over.  Jean,  however,  maintained  that  "  there  was 
no  fear,"  and  stayed  in  the  forest.  There,  one  fine  day,  he  was 
caught,  and  carried  off  to  Laval,  where  his  trial  and  sentence 
were  quickly  despatched.  When  the  aged  Jeanne  heard  the 
news,  she  was  milking  the  last  goat  that  the  fines  had  left 
her ;  and  rising  from  her  seat,  she  cried  aloud — 

"  '  Holy  Virgin !  they  will  hang  my  Jean ! ' 

"  Then  leaving  the  goat  to  its  fate,  she  donned  her  best  pair 
of  shoes,  and  ran  off  to  the  Chateau  de  Talmont — the  prince 
having  always  been  a  good  friend  to  her  and  her  people. 

"  But  alas !  the  prince  was  at  Court.  For  one  half  hour 
the  widow  remained  silently  on  the  castle  staircase,  speaking 
no  word  to  any  one.     At  last  she  exclaimed — 

"  '  The  king  must  give  me  back  my  Gas-Menton  !'*     And 

*  A  specimen  of  the  Complainle  du  Gat-Menton  may  not  be  unacceptable  here : — 


234  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

taking  off  her  shoes,  she  set  out  barefoot  upon  the  weaiy, 
weary  way  to  Versailles. 

"  On  the  fifth  day  she  arrived,  having  walked  for  seventy 
hours  without  stopping,  save  to  ask  for  a  morsel  of  bread,  or 
an  hour's  rest  on  some  clean  straw  by  the  roadside.  But  at 
Versailles  she  was  no  nearer  the  attainment  of  her  object. 
The  prince  was  absent ;  and  there  was  not  a  creature  to  whom 
she  could  apply  for  advice  or  assistance  as  to  the  means  of 
approaching  the  king.  In  her  distress  she  threw  herself  on 
her  knees  before  a  crucifix,  and  there  lay  weeping  and  pray- 
ing all  night  long ;  and  there,  in  the  morning,  she  was  recog- 
nised by  the  prince's  coachman,  a  kind-hearted  fellow,  who 
happened  to  be  passing.  Touched  with  compassion  for  his 
aged  countrywoman,  he  stopped,  and  asked  her  whether  she 
would  have  courage  to  speak  to  the  king  if  she  could  get 
access  to  bis  Majesty. 

"'Have  I  not  been  speaking  to  the  King  of  kings?'  was 
her  only  reply. 

"'Well,  then,'  rejoined  the  man,  'I  will  risk  my  place  to 
sei-ve  a  countrywoman  ;  and  God  will  put  the  right  words 
into  your  mouth  if  you  ask  Him.' 

"  And  then,  lifting  her  into  the  prince's  chariot,  he  drove 
forwards  without  hindrance  from  the  guards,  who,  seeing  the 
prince's  arms  and  liveries,  supposed  him  to  be  seated  within. 
So  Jeanne  was  driven  to  the  entrance-court,  where  all  tho 

' '  Faut  pas  crier  ainsi,  ma  mdre, 
Chaussez  voa  meilleurs  souliers, 
Laissez  tout  et  partez  vite. 
Sans  rabattre  Totre  tablier. 

»  *  «  » 

J'  feraia  cent  lieues  et  j'en  frais  milla 
Rien  que  sur  Tcuir  de  mes  pieds; 
Mon  fils,  ilfaut  que  je  parte, 
Dana  mes  mains  j'ai  mes  souliers, 
Et  dans  le  coeur  pour  aller  Tlte, 
Jlon  fils,  j'ai  mon  amitig,"  &c. 


THE  CHOUANS.  235 

equipages  were  drawn  up,  waiting  till  the  king  should  come 
out  to  take  his  drive. 

"  No  sooner  did  Louis  make  his  appearance,  than  old 
Jeanne,  springing  out  of  the  carriage,  threw  herself  at  his 
feet,  exclaiming — 

"  '  Mercy  I  mercy  for  my  Gas-Menton,  gracious  seigneur  ! 
The  custom-house  ofGcers  have  got  the  better  of  us,  and  now 
they  are  about  to  hang  my  Jean !  Oh,  mercy !  only  have 
mercy  on  my  son !  and  there  are  seven  of  us,  who  hence- 
forward will  pray  night  and  day  forsuch  a  gracious  king!' 

"  For  a  moment  Louis  was  startled  by  the  sudden  move- 
ment of  the  woman,  whose  dress  and  speech  were  alike  un- 
familiar to  him,  and  whose  bearing  seemed  that  of  a  maniac. 
The  courtiers  gathered  round,  and  would  have  removed  her 
as  dangerous ;  but  instantly  recovering  his  presence  of  mind, 
the  king  proceeded  to  question  her,  and  after  listening  with 
all  patience  to  her  story,  he  walked  back  to  the  palace  to 
satisfy  the  poor  woman — who  would  on  no  other  condition 
rise  from  the  spot  where  she  had  knelt — by  writing  an  order 
for  an  inquiry  into  the  trial,  to  be  followed  presently  by  a  full 
pardon." 

"And  thus,"  I  exclaimed  in  some  surprise,  "Louis  spared 
the  life  of  the  man  who  was  subsequently  the  first  to  answer 
the  challenge  of  the  Kepublic,  by  levelling  his  musket  at  its 
soldiers  to  the  tune  of  '  God  save  the  king'  ?" 

"  It  was  even  so,  sir,"  resumed  my  gnide  ;  "  and  if  you 
wish  to  know  more  about  this,  and  a  thousand  other  matters, 
you  have  but  to  ask  old  Va-de-bon-coeur,  whose  cottage  I  now 
see  just  behind  the  clump  of  trees  to  the  right." 

We  now  turned  into  a  narrow  lane,  which  soon  brought  us 
in  front  of  a  substantial  peasant's  dwelling-house,  where  a 
troop  of  young  lads  were  busied,  amid  jokes  and  peals  of 
laughter,  in  sweeping  the  threshing-floor — an  open  space  of 


286  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

trodden  clay — as  clean  as  brooms  could  make  it,  ■while  their 
sisters  were  decorating  it  with  boughs  and  ribbons. 

"We  are  come  just  in  the  nick  of  time,"  observed  the 
miller  as  he  alighted  ;  "  they  are  preparing  for  the  harvest- 
home.  This  is  a  happy  hit  for  gentlemen  like  you,  who  are 
upon  the  track  of  old  customs,  and  old  stories  and  songs." 

I  was  fully  aware  of  the  Druidical  character  of  the  harvest- 
home  festival  in  Brittany  proper,  where  the  peasant  never 
speaks  in  any  but  a  devotional  tone  of  the  "corn  of  the 
blessed  God ; "  but  I  had  not  expected  to  find  it  thus  cele- 
brated on  the  French  border.  I  soon  perceived,  however, 
that  the  thing  had  a  freer,  and,  if  I  may  so  say,  a  more 
worldly  character  here  than  among  the  pure  Celtic  race. 

There  was  no  time  to  make  friends  with  old  Va-de-bon-coeur, 
who,  as  patriarch  of  the  family,  had  taken  his  seat  on  the 
bench  at  the  door,  clad  in  the  old  provincial  costume,  and 
with  his  white  hair  streaming  over  his  shoulders,  peacefully 
looking  on.  Before  we  had  time  to  look  about  us,  we  found 
ourselves  in  the  midst  of  the  festival,  in  which  we  were  at 
once  invited  to  participate,  as  though  we  had  been  old  ac- 
quaintance. The  farmer,  a  noble-looking,  middle-aged  man, 
a  nephew  of  the  elder  Chouan,  was  now  led  by  two  youths  in 
holiday  dress  to  the  barn,  to  fetch  in  the  last  sheaf,  which, 
according  to  the  rhymes  still  repeated  on  these  occasions,  is 
equal  in  weight  to  the  whole  harvest,  and  can  by  no  might 
of  mortal  man  be  lifted,  unless  by  one  gifted  for  the  occasion 
with  supernatural  power.  The  farmer  grasped  the  flower- 
wreathed  sheaf,  and  bore  it  off  in  triumph  to  the  threshing- 
floor,  and  the  procession  was  then  formed.  First  came  two 
young  girls,  carrying  brooms  made  of  green  fir-branches,  with 
which  they  swept  the  path  before  the  sheaf- bearer ;  these 
were  followed  by  children,  swinging  garlands  woven  of  fresh 
flowers  mingled  with  ears  of  corn.     After  these  we  were  de- 


THE  CHOUANS.  237 

sired  to  fall  in ;  and  it  was  rather  from  want  of  stout  arms 
than  in  compliance  with  our  earnest  desire,  that  we  escaped 
the  special  traditional  honour  of  the  guest — the  being  carried 
in  a  sort  of  litter,  beneath  a  canopy  of  leafy  boughs.  We 
gladly  compromised  the  matter,  by  allowing  a  couple  of  very 
pretty  girls,  with  bright  tin  plates  in  their  hands,  to  walk  at 
our  side,  and  present  us  with  fresh  barley  and  sweet  flowers. 
Behind  us  came  a  youth  bearing  the  sieve,  and  flinging  aloft 
handfuls  of  com  and  chaff  so  adroitly  as  to  catch  the  com 
again  in  the  sieve,  while  the  chaff  was  dispersed  in  the  air. 
The  threshers  brought  up  the  rear,  beating  time  on  the  ground 
with  their  flails. 

And  in  this  manner,  with  song,  laugh,  and  discharge  of 
small  arms,  we  walked  twice  round  the  threshing-floor,  after 
which  the  sheaf  was  spread  in  the  centre  and  threshed  out, 
amid  jest  and  merriment,  with  admirable  skill.  Eefreshments 
were  plentifully  served  the  while ;  but  the  harvest-home  feast 
was  not  till  evening.  The  invitations  are  given  by  sending 
a  nosegay,  which  is  left  in  the  dairy.  Across  all  the  winding 
paths  that  intersected  the  surrounding  fields,  the  neighbours 
might  now  be  seen  wending  their  way,  each  woman  with  her 
pan  of  thick  milk,  adorned  with  flowers.  Contrary  to  the 
custom  of  the  north-western  provinces  of  France,  the  women 
are  allowed,  in  honour  of  the  harvest-home,  to  sit  at  table 
with  their  husbands ;  and  the  scene  was  one  alike  of  enjoy- 
ment and  sobriety. 

As  to  my  special  business  with  the  patriarch  of  the  house, 
it  seemed  at  first  little  likely  to  come  off.  He  was  silent  and 
suspicious — rather,  as  I  feared,  of  my  companion  than  of 
myself;  indeed,  the  miller's  exaggerated  friendliness  and  cor- 
diality was  as  displeasing  to  me  as  to  my  host.  I  asked  the 
latter  what  his  age  might  be.  He  replied,  with  an  air  of 
honest  pride — "  Seventy-one  times  hath  the  Lord  granted  me 


288  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

the  favour  of  coming  on  my  feet  to  meet  tlie  harvest-sheaf; 
once  I  was  carried  in  my  mother's  arms." 

I  thought  that  now  indeed  I  had  got  the  right  end  of  the 
thread ;  and  I  proceeded  to  allude  to  the  many  circumstances 
of  interest  he  must  have  witnessed — asking  him,  moreover, 
how  he  had  contrived  to  keep  the  harvest-home  during  the 
time  of  the  Great  War.  I  do  not  remember  his  answer ;  but 
when  the  miller  in  a  loud  voice  broke  in  upon  our  conversa- 
tion, the  old  man  cast  a  sidelong  glance  at  ns  both,  and  said 
— "  The  Blessed  God  is  almighty,  and  can  make  time  for  all 
things." 

Shortly  afterwards,  and  in  a  very  unexpected  manner,  I 
found  a  way  to  his  confidence — and  all  the  more  readily  for 
the  absence  of  the  miller,  who  left  us  to  attend  to  some  busi- 
ness in  the  neighbourhood  connected  with  one  of  the  seven 
lawsuits  of  which  he  had  made  a  merit  with  me. 

It  happened  that  the  old  Chouan,  after  the  fashion  of  his 
country — a  fashion  in  which  the  Manceaux  are  no  whit  be- 
hind the  Normans — was  involved  in  at  least  one  lawsuit,  that 
occasioned  him  its  full  share  of  vexation  and  anxiety.  On 
his  alluding  to  the  subject,  I  told  him  that  I  was  a  lawyer, 
and  could  give  him  hopes  and  suggestions  such  as  his  own 
counsel  had  not  held  out,  doubtless  lest  the  pleasures  of  the 
lawsuit  should  too  speedily  be  brought  to  an  end.  This 
opened  the  old  man's  heart ;  a  couple  of  glasses  of  Cognac  did 
the  rest — and,  in  a  word,  I  was  afloat ;  and  although  he  spoke 
at  first  with  a  measure  of  shyness  and  confusion,  yet,  warming 
under  the  influence  of  his  own  reminiscences,  he  then,  and  at 
subsequent  meetings,  related  to  me  many  interesting  par- 
ticulars relative  to  the  beginning  of  the  Chouannerie,  and 
many  of  its  more  minute  details  hitherto  unknown.  Some  of 
these  I  propose  now  to  give  to  the  reader,  as  nearly  as  possible 
in  the  words  of  the  original  narrator. 


THE  CIIOUAKS.  239 

Jean  Cottereau  the  salt-smuggler,  commonly  known  as  Gas- 
menton,  was,  as  the  miller  had  told  me,  one  of  four  brothers. 
Pierre,  the  eldest,  was  the  only  one  who  had  followed  his 
father's  trade  as  a  wood-carver.  He  was  a  gentle,  quiet, 
simple  soul ;  and  "  better  fitted  to  milk  the  cow  than  to  make 
head  against  the  wolf,"  as  old  Va-de-bon-coeur  was  used  to 
say.  Moreover,  he  stuttered,  and  being  on  this  account  unac- 
ceptable as  a  companion,  lived  much  to  himself.  The  two 
younger,  Fran9ois  and  Kene,  went  out  with  Jean  as  salt-smug- 
glers ;  the  former,  indeed,  greatly  resembled  him  in  characters 
He  was  equally  remarkable  for  cunning,  boldness,  tenacity  of 
purpose,  and  faithfulness  to  his  friends ;  while  he  was  dis- 
tinguished from  his  brother  by  a  certain  romantic  turn  for  ad- 
venture, which  is  by  no  means  uncommon  among  the  people 
of  this  province.  Eene,  unlike  either,  was  malicious,  covetous, 
and  unmerciful,  literally  taking  pleasure  in  bloodshed,  and  as 
it  were,  becoming  intoxicated  by  it.  His  covetousness,  and 
the  ways  and  means  by  which  it  was  manifested,  would  have 
been  often  ludicrous,  if  they  had  not  been  connected  with  cir- 
cumstances of  the  most  atrocious  cruelty.  The  sisters  were 
Perrine  and  Kenee,  who  seldom  left  the  paternal  roof  during 
the  continuance  of  the  war.  In  this  district,  it  is  regarded  as 
a  sin  against  honour  and  propriety  for  women  to  be  in  any 
way  associated  with  the  doings  of  the  opposite  sex  ;  and  thus 
the  women  of  Maine  took  no  part  whatever  in  the  strife ; 
while  in  Brittany  and  La  Vendee,  the  women  shared  alike  in 
its  wild  passions,  and  its  deed  of  heroism.  The  habitual  cau- 
tion of  the  Manceau  peasant  may  have  something  to  do  with 
this,  for  they  have  a  proverb — "  A  deserted  house  invites  the 
thief,"  and  in  fact  the  plundering  generally  began  in  the 
empty  houses. 

In  spite  of  the  memorable  proximity  in  which  he  had  once 
found  himself  to  the  hempen  collar,  and  the  wonderful  escape 


240  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

therefrom,  for  whicli  he  was  indebted  to  his  mother,  Jean 
Cotterean  could  in  no  wise  be  induced  to  give  up  his  wild  and 
desperate  career,  and  soon  became  involved  in  difficulties  of  a 
similar  kind.  From  these  he  was  again  extricated  through 
the  friendship  of  the  Prince  de  Talmont,  who  contrived  to  get 
him  out  of  the  country,  and  admitted  into  Turenne's  regiment, 
then  quartered  at  Lille.  This  was  all  very  well  for  the  win- 
ter ;  but  no  sooner  did  the  sun  begin  to  shine  and  the  birds 
to  sing  among  the  fresh  green  leaves  of  the  forest,  than  he 
began  to  pine  for  his  woodland  home.  A  letter,  which  he 
received  from  his  friends  about  this  time,  converted  the  yearn- 
ing desire  into  an  irresistible  impulse  ;  and  he  deserted.  His 
noble  patron  could  only  avert  the  consequences  of  this  siep 
by  procuring  a  lettre-de-cachet,  and  thus  getting  him  out  of 
the  way  for  two  years.  This  seclusion  was  the  means  of 
effecting-  a  wonderful  change  in  Jean's  character ;  he  who 
had  entered  the  prison  a  wild,  reckless  youth,  left  it  an 
earnest,  thoughtful  man,  alive  to  all  generous  and  lofty  im- 
pulses. 

It  was  shortly  after  his  release  that  the  Eevolution  broke 
outf  and  it  found  in  him  at  every  moment,  and  in  every  phase 
of  its  career,  an  avowed  and  thorough-going  opponent.  His 
mother,  as  she  was  wont  to  say  for  the  purpose  of  renewing 
her  gratitude  and  stimulating  her  prayers,  was  continually 
repeating  the  story  of  her  adventure  with  the  king,  imitating 
his  manner  of  speaking,  and  describing  his  appearance.  With 
simple,  and  almost  prophetic  pride,  she  would  declare  that 
from  that  hour  of  mercy,  the  Bourbons  and  the  Cottereaux 
were  indissolubly  linked  together.  Her  devotion  to  the 
Church  was  part  and  parcel  of  her  loyalty  to  the  Crown.  The 
tongue  that  denied  and  insulted  the  one,  blasphemed  and 
ridiculed  the  other  ;  and  the  same  impious  hand  was  uplifted 
for  the  destruction  of  both.     Eventually,  the  struggle  became 


THE  CHOUANS.  241 

to  Jean  what  it  was  to  the  whole  population  of  western 
France — one  waged  for  rights  and  liberties,  against  the  des- 
potism of  revolutionary  equality. 

These  liberties  included  not  only  all  that  gives  to  social 
and  daily  life  its  peculiar  charm  and  character ;  not  alone  the 
traditions  and  the  discipline  through  which  the  influence  of 
the  Church  is  so  universally  felt — they  also  involved  civil 
rights,  and  especially  the  time-honoured  parochial  system  ; 
and  although,  in  the  headlong  career  of  youthful  daring,  Jean 
had  cared  little  for  these  things,  yet  now,  in  the  maturity  of 
manly  reason,  he  had  become  fully  aware  of  their  importance. 
If  he  did  not,  like  Cathelineau  in  La  Vendee,  take  for  his 
watchword.  La  Liberie  des  Paroisses,  he  well  knew  how  to 
bring  this  side  of  the  question  to  bear  upon  the  feelings  and 
passions  of  his  neighbours. 

It  is  true  that  the  Eoyalist  rising  was  by  no  means  general 
among  the  peasantry  of  Maine ;  still,  that  part  of  the  popu- 
lation which  did  take  part  in  it,  stamped  the  impress  of  its 
original  character  on  all  its  operations,  and  was  on  several 
occasions  greatly  distinguished. 

The  caiTying  out  of  the  decree  for  the  universal  demolition 
of  convents,  gave  to  Jean,  as  it  did  to  other  Eoyalist  leaders, 
the  long-wished-for  pretext  for  the  commencement  of  the  war. 
On  the  15th  of  August  1792,  the  youth  of  Saint  Ouen-des- 
Toits  were  invited  to  enrol  themselves  in  the  national  guard. 
They  came  for  the  most  part  without  suspicion,  and  as  a  mat- 
ter of  customary  obedience  ;  but  when  they  found  themselves 
in  the  midst  of  gendarmes  and  pen-and-ink,  the  sacred  loyalty 
of  the  peasants  soon  got  the  better  of  their  respect  for  the 
scribes  around  them,  and  instead  of  enrolling  their  names  at 
the  command  of  the  mayor,  they  broke  out  into  menaces  and 
revilings ;  and  on  the  gendarmes  attempting  to  use  force, 
Jean  Chouan  raised  the  cry  of  Vive  le  Roi! — d  has  la  Nation  ! 


242  BRITTANV  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

and  throwing  himself  on  the  gendarmes,  at  the  head  of  a  few 
comrades,  soon  put  them  to  flight  with  a  sound  druhbing. 

If  the  peasantry  had  had  to  do  with  the  authorities  and  the 
gendarmes  only,  it  is  very  possible  that  this  encounter  might 
have  had  no  further  consequences  ;  but  in  the  w^ake  of  these 
came  the  towns,  where  all  were  more  or  less  penetrated  with 
the  new  ideas.  Burghers  of  La  Baronniere,  Andonille,  and 
La  Brulatte,  who  had  looked  on  quietly,  if  not  well  pleased, 
as  long  as  the  assault  affected  only  the  mayor  of  a  rival  neigh- 
bouring town  and  his  officials,  were  by  no  means  prepared  to 
submit  to  the  insult  offered  to  the  national  tricolour,  which 
they  had  that  morning  borne  in  triumph  from  Laval.  They 
fell  upon  Jean  Chouan,  who  had  seized  and  was  carrying  it 
off;  but  in  this  second  struggle  the  Eoyalists  were  again  vic- 
torious, and  finally  marched  away,  bearing  the  banner,  the 
prize  of  the  strife. 

Jean  Chouan,  who  had  previously  held  consultations  and 
formed  plans  in  concert  with  the  Eoyalists  of  the  neighbour- 
ing province,  and  the  heads  of  the  party,  now  proceeded  with- 
out delay  to  organize  the  rising,  in  so  far  and  in  such  wise  as 
the  nature  of  the  country  and  the  character  of  the  people 
allowed ;  while  the  peasantry  in  general  gave  a  passive  and 
moral  support  to  the  cause,  readily  furnishing  rations  to  the 
Eoyalists ;  but  the  military  element  consisted  of  not  more 
than  a  few  hundred  men,  trained  by  previous  circumstances, 
and  stimulated  by  passion  and  by  personal  feeling.  These  all 
recognised  Jean  Chouan  as  their  leader,  and  placed  themselves 
at  his  disposal  for  any  enterprise  that  he  thought  fit  to  under- 
take, the  most  part  returning  afterwards  to  their  homes,  or 
places  of  refuge.  A  little  band  there  was,  bound  to  him  by 
ties  of  special  affection,  who  constituted  themselves  as  his 
body-guard  and  staff,  and  accompanied  him  alike  in  his 
hiding-places  and  his  encampments — in  the  forest  and  on  the 


THE  CHOUANS.  243 

moor.  In  cases  of  imminent  danger,  even  these  were  accus- 
tomed to  disperse,  each  shifting  for  himself  as  he  hest  might. 
Their  leader's  retreat  was  then  known  only  to  some  trusty 
confidant,  who  carried  messages,  and  urged  the  warriors  to 
fresh  undertakings.  Not  unfrequently,  Jean  was  his  own 
aide-de-camp. 

Subsequently,  when  the  conventional  courtesies  of  warfare 
were  forgotten  in  the  exasperation  of  prolonged  strife,  and  the 
massacre  of  prisoners — even  of  the  unarmed — had  become 
common  on  both  sides,  the  number  of  those  who  remained 
with  their  leader  was  greatly  increased.  The  Royalists, 
driven  from  every  shelter  by  the  conquering  Republicans,  were 
anxious  to  save  their  friends  and  relatives  from  the  fearfal 
death  that  awaited  those  who  were  known  to  have  been  guilty 
of  harbouring  or  assisting  them. 

The  next  onslaught  was  led  by  the  national  guard  of  the 
little  neighbouring  towns,  who,  in  order  to  avenge  the  insult 
to  the  tricolour,  made  military  excursions  into  the  surround- 
ing villages,  which  were  in  bad  repute  with  them  for  their 
Royalist  tendencies.  Jean  Chouan  took  advantage  of  one  of 
these  excursions  to  encourage  his  men  by  dealing  a  heavy 
blow  to  the  enemy.  He  ordered  some  few  hundred  men  up 
from  Laumy-Villiers,  and  lay  in  wait  for  the  patriots — or 
Patauds,  as  they  were  called  in  derision— at  Bourgneuf,  and 
falling  upon  them,  slew  twenty,  and  scattered  the  rest  in  all 
directions. 

It  was  after  this  outrage  that  he  and  his  more  immediate 
personal  followers  had  sentence  of  death  passed  on  them,  and 
concealed  themselves  in  the  forest  of  Misdon,  between  the 
forge  of  Port-Brillet  and  the  village  of  Olivet.  They  num- 
bered about  forty ;  and  among  these  was  one  Trion,  commonly 
called  Miellette.  He  was  second  only  to  his  leader,  in  dexterity, 
daring,  and  physical  strength ;  but  he  wanted  the  seriousness 


244  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

and  tlie  moral  ascendency  of  Jean.  He  was,  however,  distin- 
guished by  a  drollery  and  love  of  fun,  which  never  forsook 
him  under  any  circumstances  of  privatioh  or  difficulty,  and 
which  rendered  him  peculiarly  useful  and  acceptable  as  a 
companion.  Often,  when  the  little  band  was  sunk  in  the 
depths  of  gloom  and  despondency,  a  jest  from  Miellette  could 
in  a  moment  provoke  them  to  laughter,  and  revive  their 
spirits  and  courage.  There  was  only  one  among  the  number 
who  was  insensible  to  these  influences,  being  too  full  of  his 
own  importance.  His  name  was  Godeau,  and  he  was  a 
stately  man,  addicted  to  high-sounding  phrases,  and  of  lofty 
manners,  which  he  had  acquired  in  some  great  house  where 
he  had  been  gamekeeper.  He  moreover  asserted  his  claims 
to  be  regarded  as  a  learned  man,  one  who  knew  Latux — a 
knowledge  confined,  as  it  was  generally  believed,  to  the 
Dominus  Vohiscum — picked  up  from  a  priest,  whom  he  had 
formerly  served.  He  used  to  complain  bitterly  of  the  evil 
times  that  had  taken  him  from  his  beloved  books. 

As  to  rran9ois  Cottereau,  no  home  could  have  pleased  him 
better  than  the  forest  of  Misdon,  since  at  the  forest-edge  lay 
the  hamlet  of  Loriere — the  dwelling-place  of  "  la  pauvre  don- 
zelle."  This  was  the  soubriquet  given  to  a  poor  orphan  who 
had  been  found  suspended  in  her  cradle  to  the  bell-rope  in  the 
church-tower  at  Olivet,  by  a  farmer  of  Loriere,  who  had  taken 
her  home  and  brought  her  up.  Susan  was  at  this  time  about 
twenty  years  of  age ;  but  she  was  so  small  and  delicate,  that  if 
it  had  not  been  for  her  rich  and  powerful  voice,  no  one  would 
have  supposed  her  to  have  been  more  than  fifteen.  It  was 
c«ily  for  this,  and  for  her  helplessness,  and  her  innocence,  and 
her  lowly,  obliging  temper,  that  she  could  have  been  loved 
— for  she  was  anything  but  pretty.  She  was  known  far  and 
wide  as  the  most  exquisite  of  songstresses.  When  she  was 
herding  the  cattle  of  her  foster-father  in  the  forest,  with  no 


THE  CHOUANS.  245 

other  companion  than  her  faithful  dog,  her  song  resounded  in- 
cessantly ;  and  they  were  chiefly  the  plaintive  ballads  of  the 
olden  time  that  she  sang.  It  was  those  that  had  first  attrac- 
ted Fran9ois,  and  he  had  soon  loved  her  tenderly,  but  rather 
with  the  affection  of  a  brother,  and  in  pity  to  her  orphan  state, 
than  with  any  other  feeling.  He  would  sit  for  hours  by  tlie 
pool  beside  her,  listening  to  her  song,  and  not  unfrequently 
his  comrades  too  Avould  come  and  make  a  circle  round  la 
pauvre  donzelle,  and  listen,  while  they  thought  sadly  of  their 
friends  at  home. 

It  happened  one  day,  that  the  cottagers  of  Port-Brillet, 
who  regarded  themselves  as  townspeople  and  played  the  pa- 
triot, taking  advantage  of  the  absence  of  the  whole  Chouan 
party,  fell  upon  their  huts  and  utterly  destroyed  them,  carry- 
ing away  everything  they  contained.  The  Koyalists,  on  their 
return,  found  themselves  roofless  and  helpless,  without  even 
the  means  of  preparing  their  food.  Without  a  moment's  delay 
they  set  out  upon  the  track  of  the  marauders,  overtook  them 
on  Olivet  heath,  killed  several  of  their  number,  and  then  re- 
turned in  triumph  to  the  forest  with  their  recovered  spoils, 
Miellette  marching  at  their  head,  with  the  great  kettle  on  his 
spear-staff  as  a  trophy. 

The  national  guards  soon  suffered  so  severely,  that  they  no 
longer  dared  to  meet  the  enemy  in  the  open  field,  and  it  be- 
came necessary  to  send  Eepublican  troops  called  Blues  to  their 
support.  In  spile  of  this  succour,  victory  still,  in  general, 
declared  for  the  Chouans — the  name  of  their  leader  being  now 
universally  given  to  the  Royalist  party.  His  mode  of  warfare 
was  simple  enough,  and,  for  the  most  part,  the  same  tactics 
were  repeated  with  the  same  result.  The  enemy's  columns 
were  enticed  into  one  of  the  interminable,  deep,  and  narrow 
lanes  overhung  with  tall  trees,  or  they  were  allowed  to  defile 
into  it  without  interruption,  to  carry  out  some  plan  of  which 


246  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

Jean  Chouan  generally  had  accurate  information.  His  fol- 
lowers then  formed  themselves  into  three  separate  companies, 
and  lay  in  wait  behind  the  hedges.  When  the  enemy  had 
passed  the  second  amhushment,  the  first  would  rush  out  and 
attack  the  rear  of  the  column,  while  it  was  beset  in  front  by 
the  third  division  ;  the  second  waiting  for  the  propitious  mo- 
ment to  fall  on  the  centre.  Sometimes  the  centre  was  the 
first  attacked,  and  the  other  divisions  fell  in  afterwards.  It 
was  seldom  that  the  Chouans  ventured  to  attack  the  towns 
garrisoned  by  regular  troops,  and  the  defeats  sustained  by 
them  were  chiefly  on  occasions  when  they  had  deviated  from 
this  practice.  In  the  meanwhile,  the  war  in  La  Vendee  had 
developed  itself  far  more  extensively ;  Lescure,  Larochejaque- 
lein,  Stofflet,  Charette,  and  Beauchamp,  with  Cathelineau  as 
their  leader,  had  led  the  Vendeans  from  conquest  to  conquest, 
had  annihilated  one  Eepublican  army  after  another,  and  torn 
the  tricolour  banner  from  every  fastness  in  Brittany.  Only 
Nantes  still  held  out.  The  taking  of  this  city  might  have 
been  the  death-blow  of  the  Republic,  as  Cathelineau's  de- 
cease before  its  gates  Avas  the  death-blow  of  La  Vendee. 
There  was  no  man  who  understood  the  people  as  he  did  who 
had  been  one  of  them.  None  could  manoeuvre  them  as  he 
could  for  the  battle,  and  yet  leave  them  to  fight  it  in  their 
own  way.  None  was  like  him  qualified  by  personal  gifts,  by 
the  respect  of  the  aristocratic  and  the  confidence  of  the  po- 
pular element,  for  the  supreme  command.  It  was  to  the  want 
of  unanimity  among  the  older  leaders  that  the  defeat  of  Beau- 
prien  must  be  attributed,  and  it  was  by  the  subsequent  retreat 
across  the  Loire  that  La  Vendee  was  torn  from  itself.  Jean 
Chouan  was  apprised  of  this  movement  by  the  Prince  de  Tal- 
mont,  who  invited  liim  to  support,  and  associate  himself  with 
it,  but  witliout  naming  time  or  place.  The  prince's  will,  how- 
ever, was  law  to  Jean,  who  never  forgot  the  old  ancestral  ties 


THE  CHOUANS.  247 

tliat  linked  him  to  the  family,  nor  the  protection  that  he  had 
formerly  owed  to  its  living  representative.  He  commanded 
his  bands  to  rendezvous  at  the  forest  of  Pertre,  where  he  was 
met  by  certain  noble  leaders  of  the  party,  De  Puysage  and 
Duboisguy.  His  aged  mother  and  Susanne  —  la  pauvre 
donzelle,  had  accompanied  him,  as  the  only  means  of  escaping 
the  vengeance  of  the  Eepublicans.  As  time  went  on,  and  no 
one  appeared,  the  former  suddenly  exclaimed — 

"  God  help  ns !  it  thunders !" 

"  Thunder  in  October ! "  rejoined  Miellette,  laughing ;  "  that 
must  be  a  straggler  of  last  August." 

*'  I  know  what  it  is,"  said  Godeau  gravely ;  "  it  is  a  mere 
physical  echo  from  some  cavern." 

"/<  is  the  thunder  of  the  cannon — it  is  the  Vendeans!"  ex- 
claimed Jean  Chouan,  who  had  put  his  ear  to  the  ground. 
"Forwards!  forwards  to  Laval,  my  brave  fellows!  The 
Prince  de  Talmont  is  expecting  us." 

Jean  hastened  to  Laval  at  the  head  of  four  hundred  men. 
Some  of  his  people  halted  before  the  house  of  the  President 
Moulius,  who  had  pronounced  the  sentence  of  death  against 
their  leader,  and  called  aloud  for  the  judge,  in  order  to  reward 
him  after  their  fashion  for  his  trouble.  His  wife  opened  the 
door  in  fear  and  trembling,  and  assured  them  that  her  hus- 
band was  not  within. 

"  Fear  nothing,  Madame,"  said  Jean  Chouan  kindly,  "  it 
is  only  the  malefactors  of  Monsieur  your  husband,  who  have 
called  to  pay  their  respects  to  him." 

She  then  invited  him  to  come  in  and  take  some  refresh- 
ment ;  but  he  excused  himself  on  the  plea  of  haste,  and  was 
going  away,  when,  overhearing  some  threatening  expressions 
from  his  followers,  he  paused,  broke  a  couple  of  branches  of 
grapes  from  the  vine  that  overhung  the  porch,  and  ate  a  few 
of  the  grapes ;  and  then,  thanking  the  good  wife  with  the 


248-  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

greatest  cordiality  for  her  kind  reception,  he  put  spurs  to  his 
horse  and  rode  on.  But  no  one  after  this  dared,  even  by  a 
look,  to  alarm  his  hostess.  They  well  understood  the  sym- 
bolical teaching'  of  their  leader,  and  were  perfectly  aware  that 
no  one  would  be  allowed  with  impunity  to  infringe  the  rites 
of  the  hospitality  which  he  had  accepted  at  the  house  of  his 
enemy.  The  courtesy  could  hardly  have  been  more  graciously 
managed  by  the  prince  himself. 

The  arrival  of  the  men  of  Maine — who  numbered  about 
five  thousand,  and  who  were  commonly  styled  La  petite  Vendee 
— was  a  subject  of  rejoicing  and  of  hope  to  the  native  Ven- 
deans  :  it  was  one  of  the  last  bright  gleams  that  preceded  the 
horrible  catastrophe  of  that  giant  straggle.  All  were  delighted 
with  the  bearing  of  the  Manceau  leader,  and  struck  with  the 
wisdom  and  lofty  resolve  that  distinguished  his  counsels,  no 
less  than  with  his  extreme  modesty.  They  were  astonished, 
too,  at  the  authority  he  exercised  over  a  body  of  men  who,  as 
they  said,  followed  him  only  out  of  friendship ;  for  in  their 
own  army,  order  and  discipline  were  sinking  lower  and  lower 
every  day,  in  spite  of  the  efforts  of  the  bravest  and  most  be- 
loved of  their  few  remaining  leaders.  Of  the  thirty  or  forty 
thousand  well-appointed  troops,  who,  accompanied  by  a  motley 
crowd  of  women  and  children,  cattle  and  loaded  waggons, 
had  passed  the  Loire,  not  more  than  five  or  six  thousand 
were  really  interested  in  the  Eoyalist  cause,  and  ready  to 
fight  for  the  love  of  it.  Against  the  overwhelming  superiority 
of  numbers,  this  noble  band  bore  off  untarnished,  on  every 
such  occasion,  the  laurels  of  its  former  fame ;  and  of  these  it 
may  be  said — "  La  Vendee  fell,  but  it  was  never  conquered." 

But  even  among  these,  there  was  no  nucleus  for  the  forma- 
tion of  a  regular  command,  such  as  might  have  insured  the 
execution  of  any  definite  plan  of  defence  or  escape,  even  if  the 
divisions  among  the  chiefs  had  not  rendered  any  such  plan 


THE  cnouANS.  249 

impossible.  Every  individual  soldier  was  the  mere  creature 
of  Ms  own  will,  and  yielded  obedience  to  that  leader  only  who 
was  the  object  of  his  previous  regard  and  attachment,  and  that 
only  Avlien  actually  engaged  with  the  enemy — nor  even  then 
was  his  submission  to  be  relied  on.  The  bi'avest  leaders,  such 
as  Larochejacquelein*  and  StoflBet,  were  often  reduced  to  the 
necessity  of  throwing  themselves  into  the  hottest  of  the  fight 
at  the  head  of  their  men — though  against  orders,  and  against 
their  own  better  judgment — merely  to  escape  the  imputation 
of  cowardice,  and  the  consequent  loss  of  all  influence.  After 
these  came  some  ten  or  fifteen  thousand,  who  were  ready 
enough  to  join  in  the  fight  when  the  former  had  secured  the 
victory,  but  on  whom  it  was  impossible  to  reckon  for  with- 
standing any  attack,  however  favoured  by  circumstances.  The 
"rest  were  a  demoralized  and  useless  mob,  indifferently  ap- 
pointed, scarcely  even  to  be  induced  to  stand  to  their  arms,  and 
certain  to  flee  in  confusion  the  moment  they  were  attacked. 

Any  regular  gradation  of  officers  was  unknown  in  this  self- 
constituted  army.  In  battle,  each  followed  his  friend,  or  the 
leader  who  was  the  object  of  his  special  regard,  or  to  whom 
he  found  himself  nearest.  On  the  march,  no  sort  of  order 
was  observed ;  at  every  moment  armed  men  were  leaving  the 
ranks  and  dropping  behind,  to  mingle  with  the  groups  of  wo- 
men and  children,  wounded  and  sick,  who  covered  the  bag- 
gage-waggons. Hunger  and  disease,  grief  and  despair,  made 
daily  ravages  among  this  miserable  host ;  and  their  line  of 
march  was  revealed  to  the  pursuing  Republicans  by  the  dead 
bodies  which  strewed  the  road. 

When  it  was  necessary  to  make  a  circuit  in  order  to  avoid 
a   town,    the  confusion   was   almost  inextricable,   rendering 

♦  The  noblest  and  truest  martyr  of  the  cause,  whose  well-known  word  to  his  followers 
is  a  model  of  heroic  eloquence— "  Si  j'avance,  sulTez-mol ;  slje  meurs,  vengez-moi;  si 
Je  recule,  tuez-mol !" 


250  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDISe. 

attack  or  defence  alike  impossible.  The  only  compact  body 
consisted  of  a  few  hundred  men,  the  personal  followers  of  their 
chiefs,  who  formed  a  sort  of  van  and  rear  guard,  and  kept 
watch  against  impending  danger  from  whatever  side  it  me- 
naced the  main  army. 

Among  these,  Jean  Chouan  and  his  band  soon  occupied  a  dis- 
tinguished place.  He  had  naturally  associated  himself  with  the 
Prince  de  Talmont ;  and  he  it  was  who  had  decided  the  fortune 
of  the  day  on  the  bloody  field  of  Croix-Bataille,  where  the 
Blues  sustained  so  signal  a  defeat,  by  pointing  out  to  the  prince 
a  track  which  had  enabled  him  to  surround  them.  But  every 
such  victory  only  multiplied  the  dangers  and  confirmed  the 
hopelessness  of  the  retreat.  The  refreshment  of  the  combat- 
ants, and  the  care  of  the  wounded,  involved  the  necessity  of  a 
halt,  and  this  gave  time  to  the  advancing  divisions  of  the 
enemy  to  come  up.  The  unsuccessful  attack  upon  Granville, 
where  the  Eoyalists  had  hoped  to  fortify  themselves  till  they 
could  embark,  and  the  consequent  forced  retreat  upon  Laval, 
increased  their  sufferings  to  the  utmost,  and  reduced  them  to 
absolute  despair.  Attacked  on  all  sides  by  the  Blues,  the  fur- 
ther march  wa's  one  long  struggle,  with  few  intervals  of  rest. 
At  D61,  a  panic  terror  seized  the  entangled  mass.  Even  the 
bravest — even  StoflElet,  with  two  hundred  horsemen,  was  forced 
back  into  the  retreating  stream,  while  urging  his  horse  to  the 
attack  with  shouts  of  "  Death  !  death  for  the  brave !" 

The  women,  with  loud  and  angry  cries,  reproached  their 
husbands  for  their  cowardice ;  while  the  men,  falling  on  the 
women,  declared  that  they  had  been  the  hindrances  to  their 
fighting.  In  the  midst  of  the  universal  disorganization,  Jean 
Chouan  and  his  little  band  stood  their  ground  through  a  mur- 
derous fire  from  the  Blues,  and,  under  cover  of  a  thick  fog, 
succeeded  in  driving  them  back. 

A  moment's  breathing-time  was  thus  gained,  and  a  brief 


THE  CHOUANS.  251 

interval  for  consultation  ;  and  the  glory  of  having  saved  La 
Vendee  was  unanimously  awarded  to  Jean  Chouan.  The 
Prince  de  Talmont,  wishing  to  give  some  proof  of  his  grati- 
tude to  his  faithful  follower,  signed  a  deed  on  that  very  day, 
granting  to  him  and  his  descendants  in  perpetuity,  permission 
to  cut  as  much  wood  as  they  might  want  in  the  forests  on  his 
estates — a  recompense  alike  characteristic  of  him  who  gave 
and  him  who  had  chosen  it.  The  prince,  who  at  that  moment 
could  not  command  even  a  clean  shirt,  and  whose  possessions 
were  all  confiscated,  disposes  of  his  property  for  all  time  ;  and 
Jean  Chouan,  the  hero  of  the  fight,  the  deliverer  of  the  host, 
thinks  of  a  provision  for  the  hearth  of  his  posterity  as  the  all- 
sufficient  reward  of  his  valour. 

The  destruction,  which  the  last  victory  had  only  postponed, 
overtook  the  flying  Vendee,  a  few  days  later,  in  Mans.  The 
streets  and  squares  of  the  city  were  blocked  up  by  the  dense 
masses  of  women  and  children,  sick  and  wounded,  unarmed 
and  despairing,  and  the  cattle  and  waggons  completed  the 
confusion,  and  made  extrication  hopeless.  The  Blues  made  a 
simultaneous  attack  upon  all  the  gates,  where  the  little  rem- 
nant of  the  followers  of  the  chiefs  withstood  them  with  the 
most  determined  valour.  Jean  Chouan  availed  himself  of  a 
momentary  pause  at  the  post  he  was  defending,  to  run  back 
to  the  city  to  look  after  his  mother. 

Our  Va-de-bon-coeur  accompanied  him.  They  found  the 
old  woman  seated  on  the  ground  in  the  market-place.  Fran- 
cois Cottereau,  with  his  head  sunk  upon  his  breast,  lay 
wounded  before  her,  and  she  was  holding  his  hands  between 
hers,  that  were  folded  in  prayer.  La  pauvre  donzelle  was 
kneeling  beside  him,  endeavouring  to  assuage  his  sufferings 
by  chanting  her  sweet  plaintive  ditties  in  his  ear. 

At  the  sight  of  this,  which  was  but  one  of  many  such 
groups,  Va-de-bon-cceur  was  so  much  overcome,  that  be  could 


252  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

not  advance  a  step  farther.  Jean  had  contrived  to  procure 
two  horses,  and  he  now  implored  his  mother  and  Susanne  to 
make  use  of  them  to  escape  ;  biit  before  they  could  determine 
on  this,  the  storming  of  the  gates  was  renewed  with  increased 
fury.  Jean  tore  himself  away,  and  hastened  to  his  post, 
calling  out  as  he  threw  his  musket  over  his  shoulder — 

*'  Be  quick,  be  quick,  mother !  and  if  God  will,  we  shall 
yet  meet  again  at  les  Poiriers  !  " 

The  enemy  now  soon  forced  an  entrance.  Xight  was  ap- 
proaching, and  Jean  and  others  defended  themselves  from 
house  to  house,  till  at  last  Prince  d&  Talmont  interposed,  and 
commanded  him  to  think  of  his  own  safety.  All  was  lost ; 
the  gates  were  broken  down ;  the  enemy  masters  of  the  place. 
Jean  assembled  his  followers,  brought  them  out  of  the  town 
in  safety,  and  then  returned  to  assure  himself  that  the  prince 
had  escaped.  Satisfied  on  this  point,  he  rejoined  his  people ; 
and  by  his  thorough  acquaintance  with  all  the  tracks  and 
by-ways  of  the  country,  led  them  back,  without  interruption, 
to  the  forest  of  Misdon. 

Once  in  the  still  shelter  of  the  forest,  and  released  from  the 
fearful  struggle  and  din,  which  for  many  previous  days  had 
not  left  them  half  an  hour's  repose,  the  feverish  excitement, 
which  had  hitherto  kept  up  even  the  wounded,  gave  way. 
They  cast  themselves  on  the  straw  upon  the  floor  of  their 
huts  without  speaking,  and  slept  soundly  for  four-and-twenty 
hours.  When  they  awoke,  their  first  feeling  was  a  joyous 
consciousness  of  escape  from  imminent  danger.  It  was  night, 
and  they  held  a  sort  of  muster,  while  one  called  aloud  the 
names  of  all  who,  but  a  few  days  before,  had  left  this  hiding- 
place.  To  the  name  of  many  a  faithful  comrade,  proved  in 
peril  and  in  battle,  there  came  no  answer,  unless  some  eye- 
witness of  his  fate  announced  him  as  "  dead,"  "  dead,"  "  dead," 
"  prisoner."     About  forty  were  found  to  have  survived,  and 


THE  CHOUANS.  253 

of  these  many  were  wotinded,  some  severely.  The  care  of 
those,  and  above  all,  the  thought  of  the  future,  occupied  them. 
The  latter  looked  hopeless  enough :  the  Blues  would  overrun 
the  country,  and  soon  no  place  of  refuge  would  be  safe  from 
them. 

A  long  and  gloomy  silence  followed  these  explanations. 
Even  Miellette,  whom  a  ball  through  the  ankle  could  not  de- 
prive of  his  jest,  now  strove  in  vain  to  raise  the  spirits  of  his 
brethren.  Suddenly  the  voice  of  song  was  heard  in  the  dis- 
tance ;  it  came  nearer  and  nearer,  and  was  soon  recognised 
as  that  of  la  pauvre  dortzelle.  They  sprang  from  the  ground 
to  go  forward  and  meet  her  in  the  pale  moonlight.  What  a 
sight  of  horror  met  their  eyes !  There  indeed  was  Susanne, 
her  hair  hanging  loose  about  her  shoulders,  barefooted  and 
almost  naked,  and  pale  as  the  dead,  leading  a  white  horse  by 
the  bridle ;  in  the  saddle,  one  whose  face  was  covered  with 
clotted  blood  sat  stiff  and  erect,  still  holding  in  his  right  hand 
a  sabre,  as  in  act  to  strike.  Jean  Chouan  recognised  his 
brother  Francois,  and  called  to  him ;  but  the  figures  passed 
noiselessly  befqre  him,  like  some  spectral  apparition,  and  soon 
were  on  the  other  side  of  the  narrow  but  bottomless  swamp 
that  bordered  the  forest,  so  that  they  could  only  be  reached 
by  making  a  circuit  round  it.  The  song,  taken  up  again 
by  the  poor  wanderer,  now  echoed  sadly  through  the  masses 
of  the  dark  forest ;  and  for  a  while  the  men,  even  the  bravest 
and  boldest  of  them,  stood  as  if  spell-boimd.  Jean  was  the 
first  to  shake  off  the  ghostly  terror,  and  hasten  after  them. 
As  he  came  up,  and  called  to  them  again,  Susanne  ex- 
claimed— 

"  Here  we  are  ;  save  him  1 — 0  save  poor  Fran9ois  !" 
These  were  the  last  words  of  perfect  consciousness  that  she 
ever  spoke,  and  as  she  uttered  them  she  fell  to  the  ground. 
Terror,  grief,  and  weariness,  with  hunger  and  thirst,  had  d£- 


254  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VEND:6e. 

prived  her  of  her  senses.  Jean  now  turned  to  her  companion, 
and  asked  for  their  mother ;  but  Fran9ois  answered  not  a 
word.     His  look  was  vacant,  and  his  teeth  were  set. 

After  he  had  lifted  his  brother  from  the  horse,  which  was 
no  easy  matter,  and  bound  up  his  wounds  as  well  as  he  could, 
the  poor  girl  came  to  herself,  and  Jean  brought  both  into  the 
hut,  and  made  a  further  attempt  to  gain  some  information  as 
to  the  fate  of  his  mother.  But  Fran9ois  continued  speech- 
less ;  and  Susanne's  whole  mind  seemed  possessed  by  an  old 
song,  which,  in  that  night  of  terror  and  of  flight,  she  had  sung 
over  and  over  again  to  the  wounded  man,  as  containing  her 
whole  provision  of  words  and  thoughts  of  comfort.  Her 
answers  were  imperfect,  and  interrupted  by  snatches  of  the 
song. 

"Where  is  mother  left,  Susanne? — think  for  a  moment, 
poor  child  I"  said  Jean  soothingly. 

"  Under  there  !"  replied  the  girl,  looking  him  full  in  the 
face.  "  Don't  you  know  about  it?  under  there,  with  all  the 
others.  The  cannon,  and  the  waggons,  and  the  cattle,  and — 
and  the  Blues,  were  in  the  middle  of  us,  and — and — and — 

Le  petit  point-du-jour  anive. 
Arrive,  arrivera" — 

"  Well,  Susanne,  and  what  became  of  mother  in  the  morn- 
ing?" 

"  Now,  the  widow — the  old,  old  lady — they  threw  her 
down,  and  the  oxen  and  the  waggons  went  over  her ;  and — 

A  la  porte  de  sa  mSre 

Trois  petits  coups  frappSrent — 

And  because  her  pain  was  so  great,  your  mother — the  widow, 
Jean — how  she  implored  our  lads  to  make  an  end  of  her! 
But  the  poor  youths  said,  'Nay,  another' — they  said — what 
happened  then  ?  No,  that's  not  to  be  known  !  the  good  God 
may  not — you  know  the  good  God,  Jean? — He  would  not 


THE  CHOUANS.  255 

have  allowed  it.     And  then  your  mother  said  it  was  well; 
and — and — 

Si  Tous  dormez,  rgveillez  tous, 
C'est  votre  amant  qui  parle  k  vous." 

"And  Fran9ois  did  not  save  our  mother?"  cried  Jean  in 
a  heart-rending  tone,  and  wringing  his  hands  bitterly  ;  while 
the  strong  man's  frame  was  shaken  by  the  violence  of  his 
emotion.     "  Fran9ois  stood  by  and  did  nothing !" 

"  Fran9ois  !  rran9ois  1 " 

The  name  seemed  in  some  degree  to  recall  her  senses,  and 
she  spoke  for  a  few  minutes  more  coherently. 

"  Yes,  poor  rran9ois !  he  took  the  horse's  bridle  between 
his  teeth,  and  drew  his  pistol  and  his  sabre,  and  threw  him- 
self upon  the  Blues ;  and — 

N'est-il  pas  terns  de  Toublier 
Le  beau  galant  du  terns  psMsi." 

Susanne's  mind  now  wandered  again ;  and  it  was  not  till 
she  had  hummed  in  a  low  voice  several  verses  of  the  ballad, 
that  she  continued — 

"  Ah,  what  a  deal  of  trouble  I  had  with  Fran9ois — your 
brother,  Jean.  It  was  so  hard  to  find  him  under  all  the 
Blues ;  but  at  last  I  got  him  on  the  horse,  and  broiight  him 
home  with  the  song  that  he  was  always  so  fond  of — 

Toujour^,  toujours  dedans,  mes  chants 
J'irai  pleurant  et  regrettant." 

But  all  Jean's  further  trouble  and  patience  were  thrown 
away  on  the  maiden,  who  was  by  this  time  quite  incapable  of 
any  further  coherent  effort.  His  brother  lay  motionless  and 
insensible  ;  only  when  his  mother's  name  was  mentioned,  a  con- 
vulsive shudder  passed  over  his  ghastly  features,  and  a  flash 
of  anger  for  a  moment  lighted  up  his  glazing  eye,  and  then 
he  sank  back  into  total  imconsciousness. 

Jean  Chouan  still  bore  up  amid  all  these  horrors ;  his  heart 


256  RKITTAXY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

was  but  braced  by  them ;  and  since  he  had  not  been  able  to 
save  his  mother,  his  first  thought  now  was  to  avenge  her. 

His  next  care  was  to  provide  a  safe  retreat  for  his  men. 
For  this  purpose  he  caused  pits  to  be  dug  in  the  deepest  re- 
cesses of  the  forest,  the  entrances  to  which  he  closed  by  strong 
hurdles  covered  over  with  turf  and  moss,  which  might  over- 
grow them,  so  as  to  obliterate  all  trace  of  the  removal  of  the 
earth.  Here  they  were  sheltered,  first  from  the  cold,  and, 
moreover,  so  efiectually  from  their  enemies,  that  they  often 
heard  the  Blues  tramping  over  their  heads,  without  the  least 
suspicion  of  being  so  near  the  objects  of  their  search.  Provi- 
sions were  not  wanting  to  them  ;  but  it  was  with  the  greatest 
difficulty  and  danger  that  they  could  procure  powder  and 
shot.  And  it  was  generally  Jean  Chouan  himself,  who  crept 
into  the  towns  beleaguered  by  the  Eepublicans,  and  brought 
back  a  store  of  these. 

One  day,  as  he  was  returning  from  one  of  these  adventurous 
expeditions  to  Laval,  and  was  dividing  the  powder  in  one  of 
the  excavations  a  little  apart  from  the  rest,  he  saw  Miellette, 
whom  he  had  despatched  to  Bourgneuf,  returning  breathless 
and  in  great  agitation. 

"  What,  ho  there  !  Gas-menton,"  he  called  from  afar  ;  "  you 
will  have  need  for  all  your  powder  to-day  !" 

"What's  the  matter?"  said  Jean  calmly,  while  he  con- 
tinued his  occupation. 

"  'What's  the  matter?'  The  matter  is  that  the  prince  is 
taken!" 

At  these  words  Jean  sprang  from  the  ground,  where  he  had 
been  seated,  as  though  he  had  suddenly  gone  mad. 

"Give  me  my  musket!"  he  exclaimed,  after  hearing  tiiat 
the  Prince  de  Talmont  had  been  betrayed  at  Bazonyes,  whence 
the  Blues  had  brought  him  to  Ernee,  where  his  trial  would  be 
made  short  work  of. 


THE  CHOUANS.  257 

"  Give  me  my  musket,  Miellette,"  he  repeated,  filling  his 
pockets  with  cartridges  the  while ;  "I  m\ist  be  oiF  to 
Ernee." 

"  But  the  place  is  full  of  Blues !" 

"  All  the  better ;  I  am  the  more  likely  to  see  what  they 
are  about." 

"  You  will  but  fall  into  their  hands  yourself ;  you  cannot 
possibly  escape  them." 

"  There  is  no  fear!"  said  Jean;  and  his  comrade  know- 
ing well  his  last  word,  tried  no  longer  to  dissuade  him,  and  he 
set  ofl" ;  while  Miellette  cursed  himself  and  his  stars  for  hav- 
ing brought  him  the  evil  tidings. 

For  two  whole  days  nothing  was  heard  of  their  leader,  and 
his  men  began  to  give  him  up  for  lost.  At  the  end  of  that 
time  he  reappeared,  with  his  musket  under  his  arm.  He  had 
discovered  that  the  prince  was  then  at  Eennes,  but  that  he 
was  to  be  sent  to  Laval  for  trial,  or,  in  other  words,  execu- 
tion. Jean  had  planned  and  proposed  everything  accordingly. 
He  had  summoned  all  his  followers  to  rendezvous  for  the  rescue 
at  Buis-de-1'Aulne,  between  Gravelle  and  Laval,  on  the  way 
from  Rennes.  All  was  fixed  except  the  hour ;  of  this  Jean 
was  every  moment  expecting  intelligence,  and  till  he  received 
it,  not  a  man  miist  stir  from  his  place. 

Miellette  handed  to  him  a  scrap  of  dirty  paper,  which  had 
just  been  left  with  friends  in  the  neighbouring  village,  by  a 
beggar,  who  gave  no  message  with  it.  But  neither  .Jean  nor 
Miellette,  nor  any  of  the  band,  could  read  writing.  Yes,  there 
was  Godeau  the  learned. 

"  Here  away  with  you,  Dominus  Vobiscum,"  shouted  Miel- 
lette ;  "  come  and  show  us  for  once  that  learning  may  be 
turned  to  some  account." 

Godeau  came  slowly  and  with  dignity,  took  the  paper, 
looked  at  it  with  an  air  of  importance,  turned  it  over,  shook 


258  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDl^E. 

his  head,  and  finally  declared  that  there  were  no  intelligible 
characters,  and  that  the  paper  had  been  merely  scribbled  over 
as  a  trick  played  off  to  mislead  them. 

Whereupon  Jean  crumpled  the  paper  together,  and  put  it 
into  his  pocket,  and  lay  down  again  with  his  followers  to 
watch.  But  when  that  day,  and  another,  and  another  passed 
over  without  tidings,  Jean  became  so  restless  and  impatient 
that  he  could  neither  eat,  drink,  nor  sleep  ;  and  at  last,  unable 
longer  to  endure  this  suspense,  he  started  off  to  gain  intelli- 
gence himself  at  Saint  Ouen. 

Soon,  however,  he  was  seen  returning,  with  hasty  strides, 
and  with  a  look  and  manner  such  as  his  followers  had  never 
before  seen. 

"  Where  is  Godeau  ?"  he  exclaimed  in  a  voice  of  thunder. 

Godeau  came  slowly  forward  ;  he  was  evidently  distrustful. 
But  Jean  sprang  towards  him,  seized  him  by  the  collar,  and, 
shaking  his  massive  frame  till  every  joint  cracked — 

"  So,  you  are  the  villain  who  was  to  read  these  lines  to 
me !"  roared  Jean  in  his  ear.  "  You  said  that  the  paper  was 
only  scrawled  with  unmeaning  scratches.  Tell  me  now,  is 
there  any  word  written  there  or  not,  dog  as  you  are  1" 

"  I — I — there  is  nothing  that  I  could  make  out." 

"  Make  out,  indeed !  but  I  have  made  out  that  the  prince 
was  taken  to  Laval  two  days  agone,  and — this  was  in  the 
paper — and — and  now  the  Prince  de  Talmont  is  dead !  Do 
you  hear  me,  scoundrel? — dead^  dead,  dead!" 

Then  turning  to  his  followers — 

"  What  did  you  promise  me?  AVhat  was  to  be  the  reward 
of  treachery  ?  " 

"  A  bullet  through  the  head  ! "  said  many,  speaking  together. 

"  You  know,  then,  what  to  do  with  this  miscreant ;  and  do 
it  speedily."  And  so  saying,  he  pushed  the  unhappy  man  into 
the  midst  of  them. 


THE  CHOUANS.  259 

While  they  were  binding  the  eyes  of  the  culprit,  he  kept 
screaming  like  a  madman  that  he  was  no  traitor ;  although 
to  Miellette's  logical  and  apt  question  if  indeed  he  could  read, 
he  still  replied  in  the  affirmative,  and  offered  the  weakest  and 
most  evasive  apologies,  still  swearing  by  every  saint  in  the 
calendar,  little  and  great,  that  a  traitor  he  was  not.  He  now 
strove  and  struggled  with  demoniac  strength,  and  would  by 
no  means  submit  to  his  f;ite.  At  last,  seeing  that  he  could 
not  be  persuaded  to  kneel,  Miellette,  who  superintended  the 
execution,  ordered  him  to  be  thrown  down  on  his  back  ;  the 
muskets  were  levelled  at  his  breast,  the  triggers  clicked, 
and — 

"  Can  you  read  ?  for  the  last  time !"  asked  Miellette. 

"  No  I"  was  the  reply  wrung  by  the  very  agony  of  death. 
Rather  than  give  up  the  reputation  he  had  hitherto  enjoyed 
for  learning,  the  miserable  man  had  thus,  out  of  mere  vanity, 
played  off  the  trick,  of  which  he  had  so  little  foreseen  the 
co§t. 

"  So  then,  Dominus  Vobiscum,"  said  Miellette,  striking  up 
the  muskets,  "  you  have  lied  to  us  like  a  Judas !  and  to  main- 
tain your  cursed  conceit,  the  Prince  de  Talmont  must  bite 
the  dust  I  But  still,  you  are  no  traitor.  Off  with  you,  then, 
and  hide  yourself  as  you  may !  Only  don't  cross  Jean's  path  ; 
he  would  shoot  you  as  he  would  a  mad  dog." 

Immersed  in  fresh  sorrows,  Jean  forgot  to  inquire  about 
Qodeau.  His  brother  Francois  died  of  his  wounds,  and  was 
buried,  with  imminent  risk,  in  the  family  burying-place  in 
the  churchyard  of  Olivet.  Henceforth,  la  pauvre  donzelle, 
whose  mind  had  never  been  restored,  was  in  no  way  to  be 
kept  from  the  grave.  She  had  established  herself  under  the 
shelter  of  the  little  porch  at  the  entrance,  and  spent  the 
greater  part  of  the  day  kneeling  beside  the  grave,  either 
praying,  or  singing  some  plaintive  ballad  in  a  sweet  low 


260  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDl^E. 

voice.  This  was  a  token  to  the  Eepublicans  both  of  the 
death  and  resting-place  of  Francois.  They  disinterred  the 
body,  cut  off  the  head,  and  stuck  it  on  a  long  pole,  with  this 
inscription  :  "  The  head  of  the  famous  Cottereau,  leader  of  the 
Chouans  in  Lower  Maine."  It  was  then  borne  in  triumph  to 
Gravelle,  and  there  erected  in  the  place  of  public  execution. 
Susanne  had  seen  all  this,  and  no  word  had  passed  her  lips ; 
even  her  song  was  quenched.  She  had  followed  the  rabble 
rout  to  Gravelle  ;  and  when  the  pole  had  been  securely  fixed 
in  the  ground,  she  had  seated  herself  close  by  it.  The  sen- 
tinels of  the  party  desired  her  to  be  off;  and  as  she  gave  no 
heed  to  their  bidding,  they  shot  her  where  she  sat. 

All  these  particulars  Jean  had  heard  from  his  youngest 
brother  Eene,  who  up  to  this  period  had  occupied  himself  but 
little  with  passing  events :  to  secure  his  homestead  and  his 
property  was  his  first  object.  In  spite  of  this,  he  was  seized 
and  imprisoned  as  "suspect;"  and  when  he  was  permitted  to 
return  to  his  little  domain,  it  was  to  find  his  house  plundered, 
his  orchard  and  fields  laid  waste.  This  was  the  work  of  the 
Contre- Chouans,  as  they  were  called, — a  band  of  wretches 
who,  under  pretext  of  discovering  Chouans,  overran  the  dis- 
trict as  plunderers.  The  sight  of  his  devastated  farm  had 
filled  Rene's  heart  with  a  burning  thirst  for  vengeance.  He 
desired  his  wife  to  gather  together  the  few  scattered  relics  of 
their  property,  and  to  follow  him ;  and  taking  his  musket 
from  beneath  the  hearthstone,  where  it  is  the  custom  of  the 
peasants  to  conceal  it,  he  departed  for  the  forest  of  Misdon. 

"  That  is  all  that  the  villains  have  left  me  I"  he  exclaimed, 
as  he  met  his  brother,  and  pointed  to  the  bundle  that  his  wife 
was  carrying ;  "  but  may  I  be  a  beggar  to  the  end  of  my  life, 
if  for  every  dollar's  worth  that  the  rogues  have  stolen  or 
spoiled  I  do  not  bring  down  a  Blue  1" 

Rene  did  not  lack  opportunities  to  redeem  his  pledge.    Jean 


THE  CHOUANS.  261 

himself  was  brought,  by  all  this  misery,  into  a  state  of  fever- 
ish restlessness — a  rabid  craving  for  the  excitement  of  blood- 
shed ;  and  scarcely  a  day  passed  over  without  some  encounter. 
Now  he  would  attack  the  Blues  in  their  quarters;  now  he 
would  rescue  a  band  of  Royalists ;  now  he  fell  upon  a  convoy, 
or  emptied  the  coflfers  of  the  receiving  officers.  Along  the 
whole  of  the  border  on  either  side,  Maine  or  Breton,  not  a 
place,  not  an  hour  was  secure  from  an  inroad  of  the  Chouans. 
The  engagements  at  Rouge-feu,  Bourgon,  St.  Marais,  Grand- 
Mail,  St.  Ouen,  and  so  forth,  followed  quickly  on  each  other ; 
and  almost  always  the  advantage  remained  with  the  Chouans. 

The  impetuous  bravery  of  Rene  was  manifested  on  all  occa- 
sions. Va-de-bon-ccEur  declared  that  his  musket  would  go  off 
of  its  own  accord  whenever  a  Blue  was  within  range ;  but 
he  manifested  also  an  insatiable  thirst  for  blood,  and  a  most 
inexorable  cruelty.  He  abused  women,  and  shot  down  un- 
armed travellers,  merely  on  account  of  their  wearing  the  tri- 
colour cockade,  and  would  spare  neither  the  wounded  nor  the 
prisoners.  He  declared  that  it  was  his  greatest  pleasure  to 
cut  down  patriots  by  handfuls.  His  covetousness,  which 
nevertheless  only  added  fuel  to  his  fury,  often  rendered  him 
almost  ridiculous.  When,  as  was  not  unfrequently  the  case, 
it  was  necessary  to  bum  the  booty  which  there  were  no  means 
of  bringmg  away,  he  would  crouch  beside  the  fire,  like  the 
wolf  at  the  sheepfold,  seeking  to  rescue  a  portion— bemoaning 
the  loss  of  such  treasures,  and  storming  against  the  patriots 
for  hindering  good  Christian  people  in  their  enjoyment  of 
them. 

Jean,  on  the  contrary,  was  opposed  to  all  needless  blood- 
shedding,  was  severe  against  all  acts  of  violence  committed 
in  cold  blood,  and  prevented  them  whenever  he  could ;  but 
the  increasing  ferocity  and  exasperation  of  the  men  at  length 
rendered  this  interference  ineffectual.     Rene's  prowess  gave 


262  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VEND]fiE. 

him  unbounded  influence  ;  and  his  atrocious  cruelties  did  not 
give  serious  oifence  to  any,  while  by  many  they  were  imitated. 
It  was  in  vain  that  Jean  frequently  took  away  his  brother's 
weapons :  Eene  was  sure  to  find  a  musket  ready  to  his  hand, 
to  carry  on  his  dollar-reckoning  with  the  Blues. 

One  day,  the  Chouans  were  lying  in  ambush  near  Genit, 
but  Eene,  thirsting  for  blood,  could  not  rest,  and  set  off  in 
search  of  spoil.  He  soon  saw  a  man  creeping  through  the 
xmderwood,  and  without  asking  any  questions,  shot  him  on 
the  spot.  Jean  and  the  rest,  who  had  been  overcome  by 
sleep,  started  up,  and  ran  to  the  place  to  find  one  of  their 
most  trusty  spies — who,  at  the  peril  of  his  life,  was  bringing 
them  a  sackful  of  cartridges  and  flints,  of  which  they  were  in 
urgent  need — weltering  in  his  blood.  But  what  raised  Jean 
Chouan's  grief  and  anger  to  the  highest  pitch  was  that  the 
victim  was  none  other  than  that  coachman  of  the  Prince  de 
Talmont  who  had  driven  his  mother  to  meet  the  king. 

"Wretched  man!"  he  said  to  Eene,  turning  upon  him, 
"  there  is  too  much  of  innocent  blood  that  already  cries  against 
our  name.     You  shall  atone  for  this  to  God  in  heaven  !" 

But  before  he  could  discharge  his  weapon,  Michael  Crivier 
snatched  it  from  him,  and  the  rest  of  his  followers  fell  upon 
him  and  held  him  fast. 

"Disarm  your  leader?"  shouted  Jean,  aroused  to  fury. 

"No,  Jean,"  rejoined  Crivier  calmly  and  seriously;  "but 
we  will  have  no  Cain  among  us." 

These  words  were  more  powerful  with  Jean  than  his  wrath. 
He  raised  a  cry  of  horror,  hid  his  face  in  his  hands,  and  rush- 
ing into  the  thicket  threw  himself  upon  his  knees,  and  it  was 
long  before  he  could  be  pacified. 

In  spite  of  the  frequent  recurrence  of  similar  scenes  of  ter- 
ror, the  Chouans  were  not  without  bright  moments.  When, 
after  long  and  fniitless  searching  of  the  forest,  the  Blues  had 


THE  CHOUANS.  263 

for  a  brief  space  departed  from  the  immediate  neighbourhood, 
and  the  sun  shone  bright  and  clear,  the  Chouans  -would  come 
out  of  their  holes,  and  assemble  in  a  meadow  in  one  of  the 
clearings,  and  there,  on  the  banks  of  a  running  stream,  enjoy 
themselves  in  song  and  dance,  after  the  manner  of  the  country. 
As  the  swelling  tones  were  borne  on  the  wind  to  the  suiTound- 
ing  hamlets,  now  inhabited  only  by  women,  these  would  come 
to  the  doors  of  their  cottages  to  listen,  and  shuddering,  whis- 
per to  each  other — 

"  The  lads  are  gay  to-night ;  how  many  of  them  will  be 
there  to-morrow?" 

If,  in  their  hasty  and  frequent  night-marches,  the  Chouans 
came  to  a  church  that  had  not  been  spoiled  of  its  bells — a  rare 
event,  even  the  vicinity  of  Blues  would  not  prevent  their  al- 
lowing themselves  the  enjoyment  of  once  more  hearing  the 
sounds  they  loved  so  well.  They  would  ring  the  Angelus, 
amid  cries  and  tears  of  joy,  and  kneel  in  fervent  prayer 
around  the  church,  till  warned  away  by  the  iirgency  of  the 
peril. 

Jean  Chouan  no  longer  took  part  in  those  merry  moments. 
The  perpetual  shedding  of  blood  was  a  horror  to  him ;  and 
the  recent  encounter  with  his  brother  weighed  heavily  upon 
his  spirits.  Once,  when  a  convoy  for  which  they  were  lying 
in  wait,  came  within  range  of  shot,  and  all  were  impatiently 
expecting  the  word  to  fire,  he  gave  the  strictest  orders  that  no 
one  should  fire,  and  suffered  the  unconscious  Blues  to  pass 
without  molestation.  To  the  loud  murmurs  of  his  people,  he 
replied — 

*'  The  Cottereaux  have  taken  the  lives  of  but  too  many  of 
God's  creatures,  and  the  righteous  Lord  will  take  vengeance 
on  them  for  this." 

The  words  were  almost  prophetical.  The  sisters,  Perrine 
and  Renee  Cottereau,  who  had  hitherto  lived  quietly  at  the 


264  "  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VEND:i6e. 

farm,  were  soon  after  this  taken  to  prison,  and  then  brought 
to  Bourgneuf,  where  they  were  to  be  transferred,  with  many 
others,  to  Laval.  There  could  be  no  doubt  of  the  sentence. 
Jean  at  once  resolved  to  rescue  them  at  all  hazards.  But 
the  greater  number  of  his  men  were  absent,  or  wounded,  and 
he  cd\ild  only  collect  about  twenty.  He  caused  these  to  swear 
hy  their  portion  in  paradise,  that  they  would  shed  the  last 
drop  of  their  blood  in  order  to  deliver  the  sisters. 

The  little  band  lay  in  ambush  in  the  forest  of  Dnrondais. 
Jean,  whose  calmness  and  self-possession  had  never  before 
been  known  to  fail,  now  trembled  so  that  he  could  scarcely 
speak.  He  reminded  his  men  of  the  love  he  had  deserved 
from  them,  and  entreated  their  prayers  for  him  and  his. 
Time  passed ;  Jean  went  backwards  and  forwards,  continually 
looking  for  intelligence ;  but  nothing  was  to  be  seen  or  heard 
of  the  escort  with  the  prisoners.  It  rained  in  torrents,  and 
the  poor  fellows  stood  knee-deep  in  water  in  their  hiding- 
place.  Jean  ceased  not,  with  streaming  tears,  to  exhort 
every  man  separately  to  perseverance. 

"  We  will  rescue  the  poor  girls,  will  we  not  ?  You  cannot 
forsake  me  now?"  he  would  say,  over  and  over  again,  to 
each. 

"While  you  hold  out,  we  shall,"  was  the  reply  of  his  faith- 
ful comrades,  and  further  they  spoke  not. 

The  rain  now  increased,  the  water  rose  higher,  and  the  cold 
was  piercing,  and  for  four-and-twenty  hours  they  had  taken 
no  refreshment.  As  the  second  night  began  to  draw  on,  Jean, 
touched  with  compassion  for  his  devoted  followers,  bade  them 
return  to  the  shelter  of  Misdon. 

"  The  weather  must  have  detained  the  Blues ;  to-morrow 
we  rendezvous  here  again." 

They  accordingly  retired,  while  he  himself,  urged  by  dark 
forebodings,  hurried  to  Bourgneuf,  there  to  get  tidings  of  the 


THE  CHOUANS.  265 

prisoners.  He  heard  that  they  had  been  taken  to  Laval  by  a 
circuitous  route,  and  hastened  back  to  the  forest  of  Misdon 
to  take  counsel  with  the  faithful  Miellette,  who  was  his  blood 
relation.  Miellette  had  a  peculiar  aptitude  in  disguising  him- 
self, so  as  to  personate  without  risk  of  discovery  an  infinite 
variety  of  characters.  In  the  dress  of  a  peasant  woman,  he 
now  made  his  way  through  the  midst  of  the  soldiers  to  Laval. 
On  his  return,  he  was  so  far  overcome  by  emotion,  that  he 
staggered  into  the  cave  where  Jean  was  watching  for  him 
without  being  conscious  of  his  presence.  The  deathlike  pale- 
ness of  his  face,  and  the  misery  depicted  in  his  heretofore 
cheerful  countenance,  told  all. 

"They  have  murdered  them?"  screamed  Jean  wildly. 

"Yes;  but  the  maidens  have  not  disgraced  you,"  replied 
the  other ;  and  then  proceeded  to  relate  all  that  he  had  wit- 
nessed, without  being  able  to  interpose. 

Eenee,  who  was  barely  sixteen,  had  at  first  wept  a  little, 
and  could  not  walk  forward  when  she  was  brought  out  to  the 
guillotine ;  but  her  sister  had  supported  her,  and  whispered 
softly  in  her  ear  that  "  she  should  strive  to  die  without  making 
much  ado."  Perrine  then  assisted  her  on  to  the  scaffold  and 
under  the  axe,  that  the  poor  child  might  be  spared  the  horror 
of  seeing  her  die.  This  over,  she  stepped  bravely  forward, 
and  calmly,  "  as  she  were  going  to  church,"  and  calling  aloud 
"  Long  live  the  king !  long  live  my  brother  Jean  Chouan ! " 
she  laid  her  own  head  beneath  the  axe.  Scarcely  had  it 
fallen,  when  Miellette  had  rushed  forwards,  and  dipped  his 
handkerchief  in  the  blood  of  the  sisters ;  and  this  handkerchief 
he  now  presented,  as  a  sacred  memorial,  to  their  brother, 

Jean  had  listened  to  the  relation  in  gloomy  silence,  and 
now  thanked  his  true-hearted  comrade  with  a  nod,  while  he 
took  the  bloody  token  from  his  hand  and  hid  it  in  his  breast. 
He  said  not  a  word,  and  he  shed  no  tear ;  but  from  that  mo- 


266  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDISe. 

meiit,  my  informant  assured  me,  he  was  never  seen  to  smile, 
nor  indeed  to  speak,  except  wlien  he  was  constrained  to  give 
orders.  He  would  not  take  any  part  in  the  gathering  of  the 
Eoyalist  leaders  in  Lower  Maine,  nor  would  he  head  any 
other  enterprise.     To  all  entreaties,  he  only  replied — 

"  They  must  not  be  involved  in  my  misfortunes." 

At  last,  Jean,  with  his  few  sxirviving  followers,  was  sur- 
prised by  the  Blues  in  a  farm-house — La  Babiniere.  Most  of 
them  contrived  to  escape,  as  did  Jean  himself;  but  on  hearing 
the  screams  of  his  sister-in-law,  Eene's  wife,  he  returned, 
rescued  her  from  the  enemy,  and  helped  her  over  a  ditch, 
which  he  held  against  the  Blues  till  she  had  time  to  effect 
her  escape.  Then,  pierced  by  many  balls,  he  fell ;  but  he 
had  strength  enough  left  to  drag  himself  into  a  neighbouring 
thicket,  where  he  was  wrapped  in  a  coverlet  and  carried  by 
his  men  to  the  forest  of  Misdon.  He  lived,  in  inexpressible 
agony,  till  the  next  day,  and  made  use  of  his  failing  strength 
to  the  very  last  moment  in  exhorting  the  rest  to  steadfastness ; 
urging  them  to  choose  Louis  Triton,  called  Jambe  d' Argent, 
whom  he  esteemed  as  the  ablest  among  them,  for  his  suc- 
cessor ;  and  speaking  words  of  comfort  and  of  counsel  to  each. 

His  last  look  was  so  joyous,  so  full  of  love  and  submission, 
and  so  inspiriting,  that  Va-de-bon-coenr  could  not  even  now, 
in  his  old  age,  allude  to  it  without  tears. 

"He  died  as  God's  saints  die,"  said  the  old  man — with 
these  words  closing  the  narrative  of  events,  in  which  he  had 
himself  played  so  conspicuous  a  part. 

The  Chouans  were  now  anxious  to  preserve  the  body  of 
their  much-loved  leader  from  exposure  to  the  same  indignities 
which  had  been  offered  to  that  of  his  brother  Francois.  With 
this  object,  they  dug  a  grave  of  unusual  depth  in  one  of  the 
most  secret  recesses  of  the  forest ;  and  there,  amid  tears  and 
prayers,  they  deposited  the  corpse.     They  then  filled  up  the 


THE  CHOUAKS.  267 

grave,  carefully  stamping  down  the  earth,  so  that  there  might 
be  no  possibility  of  a  sinking ;  replacing  the  turf,  which  they 
watered  plentifully,  and  strewing  dry  leaves  over  the  surface, 
so  that  it  was  scarcely  to  be  distinguished. 

Such  was  the  end  of  this  remarkable  man,  who  gave  his 
name  to  a  burgher-war,  of  which  General  Hoche,  to  whom 
pertained  the  glory  of  terminating  it,  said — "  That  all  other 
warfare  was  mere  child' s-play  when  compared  with  it!" 

Jean  Chouan's  peculiar  greatness  consisted  especially  in  its 
limitations.  He  never,  either  in  feeling,  idea,  interest,  or 
effort,  stepped  beyond  the  narrow  circle  of  which  he  formed  a 
part.  With  him,  all  was  direct,  individual,  personal.  His 
sphere  was  circumscribed  as  compared  with  his  abilities,  and 
thus  his  death  had  little  influence  on  the  war.  It  was  carried 
on  by  many  others,  who,  if  less  gifted  and  less  honoured,  still 
kept  up  the  struggle  in  the  same  mode,  and  with  varying 
results,  under  the  name  of  Chouannerie. 


THE  VIRGIN'S  GOD-CHILD. 


The  Bay  of  Douarnenez,  enclosed  as  it  is  by  the  two  rocky 
peninsulas  of  Keleme  and  Crozon,  which  leave  only  a  narrow 
passage  out  into  the  open  sea,  belongs  to  those  portions  of  the 
coast  of  Brittany  which  make  the  deepest  impression  upon  a 
traveller  possessed  of  taste  and  sympathy  for  such  scenery. 
Its  charm  does  not,  however,  consist  in  what  is  generally 
called  the  beautiful,  or  the  romantic.  There  are  along  this 
coast  many  -wilder,  sublimer,  more  romantic,  and  more  beau- 
tiful points.  But  that  which  exercises  so  peculiar  an  influence 
here,  is  doubtless  the  complete  unity  of  style,  if  one  may  use 
such  an  expression,  the  harmony  of  the  whole,  and  of  every 
detail,  down  to  the  very  moss  which  hangs  from  the  rocks, 
partaking,  as  they  all  do,  of  one  and  the  same  grave,  severe, 
gloomy,  and  mysterious  character.  Yet  this  coast-scene  is 
preserved  from  a  dull  monotony  by  the  exquisitely  blue  waters 
of  the  bay,  which,  though  protected  indeed  from  the  mighty 
waves  that  break  upon  the  rocky  promontories  outside,  yet 
not  only  curls  beneath  the  breath  of  the  almost  spent  wind, 
and  shares  the  great  pulsations  of  ocean  in  its  ebb  and  flow, 


270  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

but  is  still  further  animated  by  as  it  were  a  ceaseless  breath- 
ing, or,  in  other  words,  a  peculiar,  mysterious,  perfectly  regu- 
lar, and  low-murmuring  swelling,  and  subsiding  of  its  waters. 
Whatever  explanation  may  be  afforded  by  natural  causes  de- 
pendent upon  the  formation  of  the  shore,  it  is  certain  that  the 
people  connect  this  phenomenon  with  the  tradition,  according 
to  which  the  old  Armorican  King  Gralon  still  dwells  in  his 
glorious  magic  city,  deep  down  under  the  surface  of  the  bay. 

After  a  long  absence,  I  revisited  this  country  a  few  years 
ago,  to  recover  from  the  effects  of  the  marrow  and  bone,  the 
soul  and  spirit-consuming  business  of  the  metropolis.  I  had 
wandered  away  to  the  northern  tongue  of  land,  my  whole 
being  open  to  the  impressions  conveyed  by  its  scenery,  and  to 
the  influence  of  the  strengthening  sea-breeze  which  blew  over 
me  from  both  sides,  to  the  left  from  the  bay,  to  the  right  from 
the  open  sea.  Opposite  Rostudel,  not  far  from  the  hamlet  of 
Kerkolleorch,  I  observed,  on  my  left,  a  little  green  dingle 
which  opened  out  between  gray  masses  of  rocks,  and  led 
down  to  the  shore  of  the  bay.  Below  me,  the  little  brook 
which  had  given  rise  to  a  kindly  vegetation  around — to  grass, 
bushes,  and  some  low  trees,  had  been,  by  the  help  of  a  few 
rough,  upright  stones,  converted  into  a  well  that  a  few  wil- 
lows shaded  over. 

A  young  peasant-girl  sat  on  a  stone  near  this  well,  her  arm 
resting  upon  one  of  the  large  red  earthen  jugs  which  are  uni- 
versally used  in  these  parts,  and  have  from  time  immemorial 
been  brought  over  from  the  opposite  coast  of  Cornwall,  which 
was  once  inhabited  by  a  kindred  race.  I  stepped  towards  her  ; 
for  even  at  a  distance  I  was  attracted  by  the  peculiar  and  sur- 
prising charm  of  such  an  apparition  in  this  lonely  and  savage 
spot.  She  was  of  a  remarkably  pure  and  touching  order  of 
beauty,  and  the  simple  costume  of  the  district,  poor  but  deli- 
cately clean,  the  blue  gown  with  a  broad  red  border,  the 


THE  virgin's  god-child.  271 

brown  kerchief  around  the  head,  and  which  fell  over  her 
shoulders  and  bosom  like  a  pair  of  wings,  the  small  bare  feet, 
the  round  arm  leaning  on  the  red  pitcher — all  formed  an  un- 
speakably charming  tout  ensemble.  She  greeted  me  in  the 
dialect  of  the  country,  with  so  gentle  a  voice,  and  such  a 
frank,  friendly  glance  and  nod,  that  I  could  not  resist  the  temp- 
tation to  become  somewhat  better  acquainted  with  her,  which 
would,  I  knew,  in  all  probability  be  the  result  of  a  little 
conversation.  As  I  approached,  returning  her  greeting,  and 
wiping  away  the  drops  that  stood  on  my  brow,  she  praised  the 
water  of  the  well,  and  offered  me  some  to  drink  ;  and  upon  my 
making  a  sign  of  assent,  she  rose,  and,  with  fascinating  grace 
and  alacrity,  raised  the  pitcher  to  my  lips.  While  I  drained 
long  draughts  of  the  pure  stream,  she  held  the  heavy  pitcher, 
and  looked  at  me  with  a  smile. 

As,  according  to  the  custom  of  the  country,  I  thanked  her 
by  bidding  God  bless  her,  and  was  about  to  enter  into  con- 
versation, a  harsh  voice  broke  in — 

"  The  Holy  Trinity  protect  us  I  Can  it  be  Dinorah,  who, 
on  the  open  heath,  sets  up  a  liquor-shop  for  the  townsfolk?" 

I  looked  round,  and  saw  a  miller  of  the  neighbourhood, 
whom  I  knew  by  sight,  sitting  upon  his  sacks,  which  a  strong 
horse  carried  without  difficulty  together  with  his  master,  and 
on  his  way  apparently  to  one  hamlet  after  another.  Under 
other  circumstances  he  would  have  been  a  welcome  companion 
to  me,  for  he  knew  the  country  and  its  inhabitants  intimately, 
and,  apart  from  his  self-satisfied,  levelling,  liberal  views,  and 
the  spirit  of  contradiction  which  he  caught  from  his  news- 
papers— apart,  I  say,  from  this,  and  an  utter  absence  of  all 
feeling  for  what  was  deepest,  tenderest,  and  most  earnest  in 
the  heart  of  the  people,  he  was  by  no  means  a  bad  sort  of 
man,  nay,  for  every-day  life,  he  might  be  called  a  cheerful 
and  useful  companion. 


272  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

At  this  moment,  however,  his  appearance,  and  the  anta- 
gonism between  him  and  such  a  creature  as  Dinorah,  as  well 
as  his  discordance  with  the  place,  and  with  all  that  united  to 
form  the  mood  which  he  disturbed,  were  extremely  unwelcome 
to  me.  Half  offended,  half  embarrassed,  I  was  silent,  and 
turned  away,  that  I  might  not  be  tempted  to  say  anything 
rude  to  him.     But  Dinorah  did  not  long  owe  him  an  answer. 

*'  Go  your  ways  elsewhere,  Guiller  Three-Tongues,"  cried 
she,  with  a  gay  and  unconstrained  laugh.  "You  are  well 
entitled  to  the  nickname,  else  you  never  could  speak  so  much 
arrant  nonsense." 

"  Come,  come,  girl,  give  me  at  least  a  drink  as  well,"  said 
he  conciliatingly,  while  he  saluted  me  very  politely — for  he 
knew  me  at  once,  in  spite  of  my  turning  away. 

"  Not  I,  indeed,"  replied  she  tartly.  "  This  is  only 
spring-water  for  good  Christians ;  such  as  you  want  fire- 
water, and  that  /  do  not  sell ;  so  go  your  ways." 

"  My  way  is  thine,  child  ;  for  it  so  happens  that  I  am  tak- 
ing this  flour  to  Kerkolleorch." 

"  Except  that  portion  of  it  which  remains  behind  sticking 
to  the  mill-stones — is  it  not  so,  Guiller?" 

I  could  not  help  laughing  at  this  allusion  to  the  well-known 
foible  of  the  miller,  or  rather  at  the  droll,  pert  way  in  which 
the  girl  brought  it  out ;  but  the  miller  turned  to  me,  and  said, 
with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders — 

"  Monsieur,  then,  understands  the  gour  lanchenn  (the  bad 
tongue)  already.  But  who  ever  would  believe  it  of  a  little 
saint  that  she  could  be  so  sharp?  I  have  seen  her  when 
she  was  not  higher  than  her  pitcher — when  she  could  not 
even  call  me  by  my  name,  and  now  I  can  get  on  less  well 
with  her  than  if  she  were  an  advocate.  That  shows  plainly 
enough  that  when  God  took  the  tongTie  from  the  serpent 
He  gave  it  to  the  woman.     I  should  like  to  know  if  she 


THE  virgin's  god-child.  273 

serves  Bauzec  the  hlack  in  the  same  way  when  he  passes  by 
her  door." 

The  miller  had  evidently  touched  his  fair  opponent  on  a 
tender  point.  At  all  events  she  was  silent,  blushed  percepti- 
bly, and  pulled  her  head-gear  about  with  some  embarrass- 
ment. But  when  he  tried  to  follow  up  his  advantage,  she 
soon  found  her  tongue  again,  and  some  light-hearted  and 
harmless  bantering  was  carried  on  between  them  for  some 
time  longer. 

At  last,  he  replied  to  the  reproach  of  not  knowing  how  to 
prevent  his  three  tongues  from  contradicting  each  other,  by 
an  allusion  that  I  did  not  understand,  and  which  soon  put  an 
end  to  all  jesting  on  the  part  of  Dinorab. 

"Well,"  cried  he,  "we  can't  all  be  the  blessed  Virgin's 
god-children — that  is  only  the  lot  of  sucb  little  saints  as  Di- 
norab." 

"  Do  not  mock  at  lioly  things,  Guiller,"  said  she,  with  a 
sudden  earnestness  of  voice,  look,  and  gesture,  while  raising 
her  pitcher  to  her  head,  and  preparing  to  go  away. 

"Old  William*  may  burn  me  black,"  replied  he,  "if  I 
meant  to  mock.  Every  child  in  the  district  knows  the  story, 
and  if  the  gentleman  has  not  heard  it  already,  I  will  tell  it 
him  now — 

"  You  must  know  that  the  little  Dinorab  was  just  born,  and 
was  to  be,  as  is  right  and  proper,  baptized  as  soon  as  possible. 
All  were  assembled  in  the  church,  and  quite  ready.  The 
sexton  had  brought  the  shell  with  the  salt  in  it — the  priest 
had  put  on  his  stole ;  they  were  only  waiting  for  one  of  the 
godmothers.  At  that  moment  came  a  messenger  out  of  breath 
to  say  that  she  had  suddenly  dropped  down  dead.  You  may 
imagine  the  confusion  and  distress.     It  would  never  do  to 

*  Tbi8  is  the  title  gtven  by  the  peafants  of  Brittany  to  the  devil — perhapi  from  a  for* 
gotten  play  upon  the  name  of  William  the  Conqaeror. 


274  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VEND^Se. 

take  the  first  come  for  the  godmother  of  such  a  jewel  of  a 
child,  and  in  short  she  was  very  near  being  carried  out  of  the 
church  unbaptized  home.  At  that  moment,  out  of  the  Chapel 
of  the  Holy  Virgin  Mary,  which  stands  on  one  side  of  the 
choir,  there  came  a  wonderfully  beautiful  lady,  dressed  in  silk 
and  lace,  and  oflfered  to  hold  the  child  for  baptism.  The 
priest  had  nothing  to  say  against  it,  and  all  the  rest  of  the 
party  assembled  held  their  breath  at  the  apparition ;  and  be- 
fore they  rightly  knew  what  had  happened  to  them,  oar  little 
Dinorah  was  baptized,  and  the  apparition  had  vanished  again 
into  the  chapel. — But  pray,  sir,  do  not  think  of  disputing  with 
Dinorah  here,  or  with  any  of  the  good  folk  of  this  province, 
as  to  whether  it  really  was  the  Blessed  Virgin,  or  a  dis- 
tinguished lady  from  Paris,  who  was  sketching  at  that  time 
in  the  neighbourhood,  and  hunting  out  Cromlechs  and  other 
antiquities  and  curiosities.  So  now  you  see  it  was  no  bad 
joke  of  mine,  but  that  it  is  in  good  downright  earnest  that  we 
call  Dinorah  the  little  saint,  and  the  Virgin's  god-daughter ! " 

I  looked  inquiringly  at  Dinorah,  who  replied,  half  in  anger 
and  half  in  embarrassment — 

"  Guiller  can  lie  even  while  telling  the  truth  ;  but,  how- 
ever, no  one  can  alter  what  God  willed  should  happen.  The 
dog  may  bark  at  the  moon,  indeed ;  but  the  moon  does  not 
on  that  account  fall  from  the  sky." 

So  saying,  she  went  away  with  a  quick  step,  and  soon  dis- 
appeared behind  the  rocks. 

We  took  the  same  way  more  slowly.  The  miller  went  on 
rattling  for  some  time,  but  I  did  not  heed  him.  The  little 
legend  I  had  just  heard,  had  in  no  way  diminished  my  in- 
terest in  Dinorah.  I  knew  well  that  the  people  in  Brittany 
are  always  pleased  with  stories  of  some  wonderful  distinction 
paid  to  one  or  other  of  themselves  by  the  Lord  of  Heaven,  or 
by  some  of  His  saints.    Such  highly-favoured  ones  are  objects 


THE  virgin's  god-child.  275 

of  pride  to  a  whole  district.  I  had  ah-eady  heard  of  the  widow 
of  a  baker  of  St.  Mathieu,  whose  dough  had  been  kneaded  by 
the  archangel  Gabriel ;  and  of  Lotsen  of  Batz,  to  whom  the 
Saviour  himself  had  taught  certain  words  which  had  the  power 
of  guiding  a  ship  safely  over  the  most  perilous  seas,  and  through 
the  most  terrible  storms.  But  I  had  held  all  these  stories  to 
be  mere  jests,  and  had  never  yet  seen  one  of  these  distin- 
guished individuals.  Here,  however,  was  a  maiden  who  was 
evidently  fully  persuaded  that  she  stood  in  a  peculiar  relation 
to  the  Queen  of  Heaven.  No  one  who  saw  her  could  doubt  the 
genuineness  of  such  belief  on  her  part ;  nay,  this  story  alone 
gave  the  key  to  her  peculiar  bearing — at  once  lively  and  dig- 
nified, modest,  retiring,  mysterious,  and  yet  firm,  self-possessed, 
and  even  daring  as  it  was.  Moreover — as  Guiller  confessed 
cordially  enough,  when  he  found  that  his  light  talk  found  no 
response  in  me — though  Dinorah  was  certainly  rather  too 
proud  of  her  exalted  sponsor,  she  did  her  credit  by  being 
the  most  pious,  most  honourable,  and,  in  short,  the  best  girl 
in  all  the  country  far  and  near ;  and  if  all  saints  were  like 
her,  added  he,  he  would  himself  think  seriously  about  being 
converted  and  trying  to  get  to  heaven. 

Meanwhile,  we  had  reached  one  of  those  cottages  standing 
close  by  the  shore,  where  the  so-called  Qdbariers  were  wont 
to  live,  that  they  might  collect  tang,  fine  sand,  and  other 
l)roductions  or  refuse  of  the  sea,  which  they  sold  to  potash  and 
glass  manufacturers,  in  order  to  eke  out  by  these  small  earn- 
ings the  fishing,  which  was  their  special  vocation.  But  this 
cottage  of  which  I  speak  was  in  far  better  order  than  the 
generality.  It  was  built  of  granite  blocks,  pretty  regularly 
arranged,  and  roofed  with  large  slates.  Its  situation  was  shel- 
tered, standing  as  it  did  at  the  opening  of  a  little  hollow  in 
the  steep  banks  which  rose  from  behind  it,  leaving  room 
for  a  little  bit  of  garden,  where  herbs,  and  a  few  flowers,  pro- 


276  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

tected  by  a  green  hedge,  seemed  to  flourisli  very  well.  A 
deep  curve  of  the  shore  reached  to  a  few  steps  of  the  cottage 
door.  The  little  waves,  sparkling  in  the  evening  sun,  lifted 
in  their  play  a  neat  boat  on  to  the  snow-white  sand  of  the 
beach,  which  was  diversified  here  and  there  by  gay  shells. 
Nets  were  hanging  up  to  dry  upon  a  neighbouring  rock. 

Guiller  observed  to  me — 

"That's  the  home  of  Dinorah's  father,  old  Salaun.  And 
there  lies  the  old  man  himself,"  continued  he,  laughing,  as 
he  pointed  out  a  man  asleep  in  the  shadow  of  a  rock,  "  and 
repeats  the  paternoster  of  St.  Do-nothing.  These  people  live 
as  they  used  to  do  in  Paradise.  The  sea  brings  them  all  they 
want  wliile  they  sleep,  and  they  have  only  got  to  stretch  their 
hand  out  to  take  it  in.  No  doubt  he  is  dreaming  at  this 
moment  of  the  great  lobster  with  pearl  eyes,  and  of  the  bank 
with  silver  anchovies ;  and  he  is  ready  to  Bell  his  soul  to 
Satan  if  he  will  but  get  him  a  net  made  of  sand,  with  which 
to  fish  out  all  these  marvels  from  the  depths  of  the  Bay  of 
Douarnenez.  I  will  waken  him  just  in  time  to  prevent  the 
bargain  being  struck." 

He  did  this  in  rather  a  summary  manner ;  and  after  a  few 
jokes,  both  men  began  to  unlade  the  sacks  of  flour  which  the 
miller  had  brought.  During  this  process,  I  engaged  the 
Gabarier  to  take  me  in  his  boat,  at  the  next  ebb  of  the  tide, 
to  the  cave  of  JMorgate,  which  was  opposite,  at  the  very  ex- 
tremity of  the  southern  point.  To  while  away  the  short  inter- 
vening time,  I  ascended  the  banks  behind  the  cottage,  and 
delighted  myself  with  the  glorious  scene  presented  by  the 
bay :  its  rocky  shores,  the  wide  sea  beyond,  the  promontories 
and  fissures  far  and  near,  the  hundred  sails  of  small  and 
large  vessels  traversing  the  blue  expanse  in  every  direction ; 
and  all  this  brightly  lighted  up  by  the  sun,  which  already 
neared  the  misty  horizon. 


TUE  virgin's  god-child.  277 

I  was  roused  out  of  the  dreamy  condition  into  which  the 
scene  had  plunged  me,  by  the  noise  that  the  fisherman  and 
miller  made  in  shutting  the  cottage-door  after  they  had  fin- 
ished their  task.  I  had  begun  to  descend,  but  involuntarily 
stood  still  as  I  saw  Dinorah  come  out  of  the  cottage.  She 
had  placed  her  distaff  on  her  hip,  and  as  she  went  along  she 
whirled  the  spindle  with  great  speed  and  accuracy.  In  the 
other  hand,  she  held  up  her  apron,  in  which  she  seemed  to  be 
carrying  something  or  other.  She  came  up  the  cliff  near  to 
where  I  was  standing,  behind  a  projection  of  rock,  and  then 
stood  still,  a  few  steps  below  me.  She  looked  round  on  every 
side,  raised  her  hand  to  the  four  points  of  the  compass  succes- 
sively, while  she  pronounced  two  or  three  words  which  I  did 
not  understand.  She  was  instantly  answered  by  a  loud  chirp- 
ing from  the  low  bushes  around,  and  from  every  side  different 
kinds  of  birds — bullfinches,  robin-redbreasts,  hedge-sparrows, 
titmice,  and  many  more — flew  down  to  pick  up  the  food  she 
had  brought  them  in  her  apron,  and  which  she  now  carefully 
and  lovingly  distributed  in  little  handfuls,  while,  in  an  under 
tone,  she  sang  to  herself  in  a  strange  sort  of  way. 

It  was  a  lovely  picture,  seen  thus  in  the  red  glow  of  even- 
ing ;  and  the  pure  outline  of  her  face,  with  its  rich  waves  of 
golden  hair  around,  would  certainly  have  afforded  to  a  painter 
a  most  admirable  study  for  the  head  of  a  saint. 

At  length  I  approached,  but  she  beckoned  me  away,  with- 
out, however,  evincing  the  least  surprise  or  embarrassment. 

"  If  Monsieur  comes  nearer,  all  my  little  birdies  will  fly 
away,  and  they  are  not  half  satisfied,"  said  she  in  a  whisper, 
that  her  proteges  might  not  be  disturbed  by  the  soimd  of  a 
strange  language. 

However,  at  that  moment  both  the  men  came  noisily  out  of 
the  cottage,  and  the  little  birds  dispersed  on  every  side,  with 
a  loud  twittering,  expressive  of  their  alarm  and  displeasure. 


278  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDISe. 

So  Dinorah,  after  having  called  out  a  few  quieting  and 
sympathizing  words  after  them,  found  herself  obliged  to  speak 
to  me.  In  answer  to  my  question,  by  what  means  she  had 
contrived  thus  to  tame  such  shy  little  creatures,  she  looked  at 
me  in  astonishment,  and  said — 

"  Why,  by  the  same  that  attract  all  God's  creatures — by 
love ;  by  showing  them  that  one  is  fond  of  them.  In  winter, 
when  they  cannot  find  food  for  themselves,  I  strew  it  for  them 
before  our  door,  and  in  summer  they  know  me  again." 

As  she  spoke,  we  reached  the  cottage,  and  the  miller  could 
not  refrain  from  teasing  her  a  little  more. 

"  The  little  saint  has  again  given  alms  to  the  beggars  of 
the  air.  No  doubt  she  expects  to  find  one  or  other  amongst 
them  who  will  bring  her  tidings  from  her  high  and  holy  god- 
mother." 

Dinorah  went  into  the  house,  silent,  and  evidently  offended  ; 
but  old  Salaun  said  gravely — 

"  And  why  not,  pray  ?  If  our  fathers  have  not  deceived 
us,  there  are  birds  who  know  the  way  to  the  upper  sea,  and 
can  no  doubt  carry  a  message  to  the  blest  in  Paradise." 

"  "Well,  all  I  know,"  replied  the  miller,  "  is  that  it  is  just 
the  contrary  with  my  horse  and  me.  We  have  to  find  our 
way  to  one  who  comes  much  nearer  to  the  lost  in  hell.  Or 
has  the  devil  at  last  hunted  down  his  prey — Jitdock  Ship- 
wreck of  the  Eaven-cliff?" 

Salaun,  it  was  plain,  wished  to  avoid  giving  an  answer, 
and  went  accordingly  towards  the  boat,  remarking  that  it  was 
high  time  to  think  of  our  expedition.  But  the  name  oiJiidock 
happened  to  recall  to  my  mind,  though  indistinctly,  certain 
criminal  prosecutions  in  which  I  had  been  engaged.  And 
upon  inquiry,  the  miller  convinced  me  that  it  was  indeed  this 
very  man  who  had  been  brought  before  the  Court  at  Brest 
several  years  before,  charged  with  heavy  crimes,  but  who  had 


THE  virgin's  god-child.  279 

been  acquitted,  contrary  to  the  general  expectation,  owing  to 
some  deficiency  in  the  evidence. 

"  If  I  only  knew,"  added  the  miller,  "  whether  the  old  vil- 
lain were  at  home,  that  he  might  himself  receive  his  flour 
from  me,  and  make  no  more  ado  about  it,  I  would  rather" — 
here  he  interrupted  himself.  "  But  there  comes  his  boy — 
Bauzec  the  Hack — and  he  can  give  us  the  surest  information, 
if  he  but  choose  to  do  so." 

The  new-comer  was  a  young  lad  in  the  very  poorest  dress 
of  the  district.  His  thick,  unkempt,  rough,  coal-black  hair 
fell  like  a  mane  over  his  shoulders.  In  his  right  hand,  he 
held  a  long  cudgel,  which,  with  strength  and  agility,  he 
swung  round  in  circles;  while  his  left  hand  clutched  with 
fierce  grasp  the  sack  which  he  carried  on  his  shoulders.  His 
features,  as  well  as  his  expression,  wore  no  trace  of  the  old 
Armorican  type — had  about  them  nothing  of  its  sad,  severe 
earnestness,  and  indomitable  fidelity.  There  was  evidently 
the  wild,  cunning,  gipsy  character  about  the  dark  contracted 
features,  and  the  bright,  deeply-cut  eyes.  In  short,  there  was 
something  in  his  whole  appearance  that  awakened  dislike  as 
well  as  fear. 

When  be  saw  that  he  was  observed,  he  stopped  for  an  in- 
stant in  his  rapid  walk,  and  seemed  doubtful  as  to  whether  or 
not  he  would  turn  back.  But  just  at  that  moment  Dinorah 
happened  to  come  to  the  door,  busied  with  her  spindle,  and 
looking  down. 

As  soon  as  he  saw  her,  he  came  on  again,  but  so  slowly, 
that  the  miller  more  than  once  called  upon  him  to  make  haste, 
adding,  that  in  general  he  was  light-footed  enough,  otherwise 
there  would  have  been  an  end  of  his  light  feet  long  ago,  and 
he  would  have  had  a  couple  of  pounds  of  iron  hung  upon 
them.  When  the  lad  had  come  within  a  few  steps  of  us,  ho 
8tood  still  again,  and  cast  furtive  glances — differing,  however. 


280  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENULE. 

wonderfully  in  expression — first  at  us,  and  then  at  Dinorah. 
The  miller  then  asked  him  if  Judock  was  at  home.  He  made 
no  answer  till  Dinorah  repeated  the  question,  when  he  slowly- 
said — 

"  He  only  can  know  that  who  comes  from  the  Eavens' 
Cliff." 

"  And  thou,  lad,  comest  as  usual,"  said  the  fisherman,  ad- 
vancing towards  us  from  his  boat,  "  only  from  some  place 
or  other  thou  shouldest  not  come  from,  and  which  no  one  asks 
thee  about." 

"  Where  should  he  come  from,  indeed,  but  from  some  poach- 
ing expedition?"  suggested  the  miller.  "Let  us  see  what 
your  booty  is  to-day — fruit  or  roots,  fish  or  flesh  !" 

And  so  saying,  he  was  going  to  snatch  at  the  sack,  but  the 
youth  looked  at  him  in  such  a  way,  and  made  such  an  ex- 
pressive motion  with  the  cudgel,  that  the  miller,  strong  as  he 
was,  drew  back,  with  an  exclamation  that  called  forth  the  in- 
terposition of  Dinorah. 

"  Bauzec  comes  from  the  downs,"  she  calmly  said  ;  "  I  saw 
him  wandering  about  there  an  hour  or  so  ago." 

"  He  has  been  hunting  with  the  gentry.  I  have  met  him 
out  with  them  before  now,"  exclaimed  Guiller  spitefully. 

"  And  why  not  ?"  replied  the  youth  in  a  tone  of  defiance. 
"  Here  is  my  gun,  which  never  fails,  and  here  my  sporting 
dog,  which  never  loses  scent  of  the  game,"  added  he  tri- 
umphantly, as  he  swung  round  his  cudgel,  and  opened  his 
sack  a  little,  out  of  which  peeped  a  little  white,  hairy  head, 
with  small,  red  eyes,  and  a  pointed  and  blood-stained  little 
nose. 

"  A  ferret ! "  exclaimed  Salaun  ;  "  no  wonder,  then,  that  the 
gentry  complain  that  they  can  hardly  get  a  roasted  rabbit  out 
of  all  their  rabbit-warrens." 

"  Bauzec  grinned  with  delight  at  this  acknowledgment  cf 


TUE  virgin's  god- child.  281 

his  heroic  deeds.  He  fumbled  in  his  bag,  and  brought  out 
four  fine  rabbits,  on  whose  white  breasts  the  little  track  of 
blood  showed  where  the  ferret  had  sucked  their  veins.  That 
little  creature  evinced  a  strong  fellow-feeling  with  its  master, 
looking  complacently  upon  its  victims,  and  licking  its  lips  and 
whiskers  with  its  small  red  tongue. 

To  the  miller's  question  as  to  whether  he  was  willing  to 
sell  them,  Bauzec  replied — 

"Not  here;  I  shall  get  a  better  price  for  them  at  the 
tavern  in  Crozon,  as  well  as  a  glass  of  fire-water  into  the 
bargain," 

So  saying,  he  replaced  his  booty  in  the  bag,  lingered  for  a 
moment  or  two  as  if  in  indecision,  and  then  prepared  to  leave 
without  any  further  salutation.  But  he  suddenly  recollected 
himself,  drew  one  of  the  rabbits  out  of  the  bag  again,  and 
threw  it  at  Dinorah's  feet,  with  the  bold  yet  shy  manner  of  a 
rough  youth,  who  would  willingly  be  gallant  but  does  not 
know  how. 

"  It  is  the  finest  of  them,"  muttered  he ;  *'  the  little  saint 
may  keep  it  if  she  will." 

Dinorah  looked  at  him  gravely,  almost  severely.  But  her 
father  pushed  away  the  present  with  his  foot,  and  said  rudely 
— "  Take  thy  game  along  with  thee,  lad ;  we  only  receive 
presents  from  Christian  people." 

Bauzec  shrank  back,  and  for  a  moment  appeared  discom- 
fited ;  but  he  soon  regained  his  savage  air  of  defiance.  He 
uttered  a  sort  of  hissing  sound,  which  might  pass  for  a  laugh 
of  contempt,  took  up  his  bag  again,  and  with  a  few  strides 
vanished  behind  a  projection  of  the  rocks. 

The  miller,  meanwhile,  had  picked  up  the  rabbit,  and  said 
that  his  conscience  was  not  so  tender ;  and  that,  if  they  de- 
spised the  dainty  roast  it  would  make,  it  would  do  nicely  for 
him. 


282  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VEND]Se. 

He  then  prepared  to  join  Bauzec,  as  he  had  to  go  to  the 
Eavens'  Cliflf.  I  resolved  to  accompany  him  ;  for  I  was  curious 
to  make  the  personal  acquaintance  of  this  Judock,  whose 
innocence  as  to  the  charges  already  referred  to  had  always 
appeared  to  me  something  more  than  doubtful,  while  their 
nature  had  left  on  my  mind  a  picture  of  a  remarkable  and 
original  villain.  The  fisherman  promised,  though  evidently 
with  some  reluctance,  to  bring  the  boat  round  for  me  to 
Ravens'  Cliff  at  the  proper  time.  I  took  a  short  farewell  of 
Dinorah,  but  found  her  far  more  silent  and  reserved  than  she 
had  been  at  first ;  and  went  on  my  way,  accompanied  by  the 
miller. 

"  You  will  find  Judock  an  odd  sort  of  saint,"  said  my  com- 
panion, in  his  obtrusive  way ;  "  or  rather,  I  should  say,  no 
saint  at  all,  but  a  regular  limb  of  Satan,  with  whose  sins  and 
crimes  one  could  fill  up  the  whole  way  between  Camaret  and 
Crozon.  For  twenty  years  he  lit  false  lights  from  Loquirnk 
to  Trevignon,  and  has  had  more  to  do  with  shipwrecks  upon 
this  coast  than  the  south-west  wind  itself." 

I  asked  whether  this  creditable  occupation  enriched  its 
pursuer. 

"  One  cannot  exactly  tell,"  rejoined  Guiller ;  "  he  lives  in 
his  den  yonder  as  poorly  as  a  Klasker-hara—a  bread-seeker, 
as  we  call  beggars  about  here.  But  the  question  is,  whether 
his  miserliness  be  not  greater  than  all  his  other  vices.  Many 
believe  that  he  has  tons  of  buried  gold.  And  besides,  he 
gains  something  every  now  and  then  as  a  flayer  and  rope- 
maker;  and  on  that  account,  too,  the  people  look  askance 
at  him  as  anything  but  a  Christian,  and  aver  that  he  is  a 
Kakons." 

After  an  hour's  good  walk,  as  we  followed  a  bend  of  the 
down,  we  came  in  sight  of  Judock's  hut.  It  was  built  into  a 
small  and  narrow  fissure  in  the  rocks,  and  stood  close  to  the 


THE  virgin's  god-child.  283 

shore.  The  natural  walls  thus  aiforded,  the  moss-grown  flag- 
stones that  formed  its  roof,  and  whose  broad  crevices  were 
stuifed  up  \vith  sea-tang,  held  together  by  strong  fir-branches, 
rendered  it  difficult  to  distinguish  the  dwelling  from  the  rocks 
around,  and  the  sea-produce  strewn  upon  them.  Everything 
was  barren,  rude,  and  inhospitable-looking.  Some  pointed 
piles  of  bones  lay  about,  and  the  projecting  roof  of  the  gable 
had  two  or  three  horses'  skulls  nailed  to  it — a  decoration 
worthy  of  the  whole. 

Judock  sat  at  his  door,  busied  with  some  old  cordage,  which 
he  was  pulling  to  pieces.  He  was  a  little,  thin,  shrivelled 
old  man,  with  a  large  bald  head.  The  prevailing  hue  of  his 
face  was  almost  brick-coloured,  but  in  the  countless  wrinkles 
the  skin  was  lighter ;  and  as  these  wrinkles  widened  more  or 
less  at  every  change  of  feature,  or  when  he  spoke,  they  gave 
him  a  strange  repulsive  appearance,  and  made  a  varying  and 
confusing  impression  upon  the  beholder.  His  restless,  pierc- 
ing glance,  his  beak-like  nose,  his  low  forehead,  his  toothless 
mouth,  his  under  jaw  in  constant  motion, — all  completed  a 
picture,  which  only  answered  too  well  to  the  opinion  that  I 
had  already  formed  of  him. 

As  soon  as  he  saw  me  he  started,  and  furtively  watched  all 
my  movements  with  visible  unrest  and  suspicion.  But  he 
pretended  not  to  observe  me. 

"  Now  then,  old  sinner,"  said  Guiller  to  him  at  last,  "  canst 
thou  not  give  God's  blessing  and  the  good-day  to  this  gentle- 
man?" 

"What  is  the  nobleman  seeking  for  on  this  coast?"  was 
the  ungracious  answer,  spoken  in  an  under  tone. 

"  Ay,  what  indeed? — old  Judock,  perhaps,"  said  the  miller, 
hiughing. 

At  these  words  Judock  sprang  up,  and  seemed  doubtful 
whether  to  flee  or  to  defend  himself.     I  however  soon  calmed 


284  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

bim,  by  assuring  bim  tbat  I  was  only  a  lover  of  rock  and 
ocean,  and  that  I  bad  a  boat  ready  to  take  me  to  see  tbe 
cave.  Without  returning  me  any  answer,  be  seized  tbe  sack 
of  flour  tbat  Guiller  had  brought,  and  carried  it  into  the  but. 
No  sooner  bad  I  crossed  the  threshold,  however,  than  Judock 
let  bis  burden  fall,  and  gave  a  loud  scream. 

"  He  here  !"  exclaimed  be,  with  an  expression  of  extremest 
amazement.  "  Tbe  saints  be  gracious  to  me !  bow  has  he 
got  in?" 

The  intruder  was  Bauzec,  who,  to  all  appearance  quite 
unconcerned,  sat  upon  the  hearth  and  roasted  potatoes  in  tbe 
ashes. 

"Why,"  observed  the  miller,  showing  himself  upon  tbe 
door-sill,  "you  have  not  left  more  than  one  bole  to  your 
palace ;  how  could  be  have  got  in  otherwise  than  by  it,  old 
boy?" 

"  No,  no ;  the  door  was  shut,  and  I — but  I  must  ferret  out 
bow  this  vermin  crept  in  here  without  my  knowledge,  or  " — 

He  raised  bis  hand  threateningly  against  the  lad,  who, 
however,  replied  calmly,  and  with  an  ironical  emphasis  upon 
the  expression — 

"  Why,  my  dear  father,  does  not  the  wind  find  its  way  in 
without  asking  your  leave,  and  why  should  not  your  dear 
little  son  do  the  same?" 

"  Only  hear  him,  the  young  imp ! "  exclaimed  the  old  man, 
half  angrily  and  half  piteously.  "  He  himself  confesses  that 
be  has  slipped  in  here  to  rob  bis  poor  old  father ! " 

"Eh,  father  dear!"  continued  the  youth  in  the  same  mock- 
ing tone ;  "  so  there  is  then  something  to  rob  you  of,  and 
people  are  not  so  far  wrong — eh?" 

That  last  sentence  was  too  much  for  the  old  man.  He 
seized  an  iron  implement  which  lay  at  band,  and  rushed  upon 
Bauzec ;  but  with  a  laugh  he  slipped  away  from  bim,  and  out 


THE  virgin's  god-child.  285 

at  the  door,  with  cat-like  agility.  The  old  man  followed,  but 
he  very  soon  returned  out  of  breath,  apparently  without 
having  effected  anything.  He  spent  himself  in  asseverations 
respecting  his  poverty,  his  age,  and  his  wretchedness;  the 
untruth,  and  indeed  impossibility,  of  any  reports  to  the  con- 
trary ;  the  bad-heartedness  and  ingratitude  of  the  "  vermin," 
as  he  called  his  well-educated  son. 

The  miller  put  an  end  to  the  repulsive  garrulity  of  the  old 
man — whose  mind  was  actually  weakened  by  the  alarm  given 
to  his  covetousness — by  reminding  him  of  the  payment  due, 
and  of  the  glass  of  brandy  that  was  to  accompany  it.  But 
he  could  only  bring  him  to  the  point  by  the  positive  threat  of 
no  longer  grinding  for  him. 

At  last  the  boat  of  old  Salaun  touched  the  shore,  and  he 
called  out  to  me  that  there  was  no  time  to  lose.  I  was  glad 
to  leave  the  inhospitable  hut  and  its  owner,  and  the  miller 
too,  whose  manner  towards  the  old  man  was  disagreeable  to 
me.  So  I  soon  found  myself  sitting  in  the  boat,  and  gave 
myself  up  to  the  strange  and  sublime  scenes  that  shore  and 
sea  afforded  me,  as  we  rowed  to  the  outlet  of  the  bay.  Sa- 
laun had  made  visible  haste  to  push  off  from  the  shore,  and 
had  at  first  exerted  all  his  energies  to  get  away  as  fast  as 
possible  out  of  sight  of  the  Kakous'  hut. 

His  exertions,  and  the  anxious  look  that  he  cast  towards 
the  cloudless  horizon,  induced  me  at  last  to  ask  him  whether 
we  had  a  sudden  squall  to  apprehend. 

"  Ask  them  who  cause  such,  sir ;  it  would  not  be  the  first 
storm  that  has  come  from  that  quarter  in  perfectly  still 
weather,"  said  he  significantly,  while  he  pointed  to  the  direc- 
tion where  stood  the  dwelling  of  the  Kakous. 

And  strange  enough,  at  that  very  moment,  a  light  white 
cloud  rose  from  the  point  in  question,  and  spread  out  to  the 
horizon.    But  I  soon  convinced  myself  that  it  must  be  smoke, 


286  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

and  concerned  myself  no  further  about  the  matter,  seeing  that 
the  Gabarier,  to  my  query  as  to  how  a  fire  could  take  place 
on  so  nearly  uninhabited  a  coast,  merely  replied  by  shrugs  of 
the  shoulders,  and  other  strange  gestures.  And  besides  this, 
we  had  now  reached  the  vicinity  of  the  Grotto  of  Morgate, 
where  Nature  claimed  and  absorbed  all  my  attention. 

I  let  the  conversation  drop,  and  soon  we  glided  through 
the  narrow  entrance  into  the  cave,  whose  noble  dome — look- 
ing, in  the  wonderfully  blue  light,  as  if  it  were  built  of 
sapphires — rose  suddenly  upon  the  astonished  and  bewildered 
sight.  This  cave  certainly  surpasses  the  so  much  more  widely 
famed  blue  Grotto  of  Capri ;  and  this  particular  point,  as  well 
as  the  whole  coast  indeed,  possesses  in  a  much  higher  degree 
than  those  southern  shores,  the  charm  of  ancient  local  tradi- 
tions and  national  songs. 

These  are  for  the  most  part  connected,  in  this  district,  with 
the  mythic  King  Grail  on-Mawr  (Grallon  the  Great),  and  with 
the  magic  Princess  Morgane,  or  Margate,  who,  as  is  well 
known,  occupies  so  prominent  a  portion  in  the  legends  and 
lays  of  Arthur's  round  table. 

Nothing  was  wanting  but  a  hint  on  my  part  to  induce  my 
companion,  who  had  been  hitherto  so  monosyllabic,  to  set  off 
fluently  upon  these  subjects. 

His  favourite  tradition — the  scene  of  which,  moreover,  was, 
he  asserted,  this  very  grotto — appeared  to  be  the  story  of  the 
fair  Genossa,  which  is  also  preserved  in  an  old  national  song 
(Guerz)  of  Brittany.* 

Genossa  was  the  daughter  of  a  mighty  lord,  who  lived  in 
the  castle  whose  giant  ruins  are  still  shown  on  the  island  of 
Eozan,  at  the  mouth  of  the  Laber.     Genossa  lived  without 

*  It  is  well  known  tbat  the  distinguished  VillemarquS  has  published  a  collection,  in 
two  volumes,  of  similar  national  lyrics,  under  the  title,  Barzas-Briez,  chantt  populairet 
de  la  Bretagne,  which  have  also  been  translated  by  Ad.  Keller,  and  others  whose  names 
Jiave  escaped  my  memoty.    Bat  the  legend  of  GMiossa  is  not  amongst  them. 


THE  virgin's  god-child.  287 

God,  and  without  a  wish.  Her  father  let  her  grow  up  as  do 
the  flowers  of  the  field,  and  no  priest  had  ever  approached  the 
island,  which  was  devoted  to  the  Evil  Spirit.  Sitting  upon  a 
snow-white  cow  with  golden  horns,  she  wandered  all  the  day 
long  through  the  meadows  and  woods  that  lay  around  the 
shore,  catching  in  her  silken  net  the  birds  on  the  wing. 
'  One  day  she  chanced  to  meet  a  beautiful  young  man  upon 
a  black  bull  with  silver  horns.  His  approach  thrilled  her 
through  and  through.  He  spoke  such  wondrously  sweet  words 
to  her,  that  she  was  bewitched  by  them.  The  black  bull 
and  the  white  cow  walked  so  closely  together,  and  so  slowly, 
that  they  could  crop  the  grass  at  their  feet,  and  pull  at  the 
same  flowers ;  and  the  blended  sound  of  their  hoofs  echoed 
like  music  in  the  heart  of  Genossa. 

The  fisherman  had  at  first  told  the  tale  in  his  own  way,  and 
with  sundry  pauses ;  but  soon  the  words  of  the  old  ditty  fell 
from  him  in  their  original  form,  and  he  continued  without  in- 
terruption, in  a  strange  half-chanting,  half-reciting  tone — 

"  It  seemed  to  Genossa  as  though  every  tree  were  hung 
around  with  wreaths  of  flowers,  and  sweet  bird-notes  sprung 
from  under  every  leaf,  and  the  sea-breezes  were  laden  with 
incense-like  perfume.  Genossa  met  the  handsome  man  on  the 
black  bull  more  than  once,  and  ever  his  magic  power  grew 
stronger  and  stronger  over  her.  She  soon  thought  and  wished 
only  what  the  stranger  wished  and  thought.  And  so  it  came 
to  pass  that  one  day  the  white  cow  returned  to  the  castle 
alone,  and  Genossa  sat  behind  the  stranger  upon  the  black 
bull  with  the  silver  horns.  The  lord  of  the  island  of  Eozan, 
however,  gathered  all  his  men  together  in  pursuit,  each  bearing 
in  one  hand  a  sword,  and  in  the  other  a  dagger.  For  this 
lord  had  promised  to  cover  with  gold  every  drop  of  blood  spilt, 
whether  of  their  own  or  their  enemy's. 

"  Soon  Genossa  found  herself  resting  by  the  stranger's  side 


288  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VEND]6e. 

on  the  sea-shore,  while  the  black  bull  pastured  near.  As  soon 
as  the  stranger  saw  the  pursuers  advancing,  he  vaulted  with 
Genossa  on  the  back  of  the  bull,  who  plunged  into  the  blue 
sea,  and  soon  carried  them  over  to  the  Grotto  of  Morgane. 
Arrived  there,  the  stranger  began  to  caress  the  maiden  ;  she 
shrunk  away  abashed,  and  said — 

"  *  Leave  off,  Spountus.*  I  hear  my  mother  weeping  and 
Bobbing  between  the  boards  of  the  narrow  house.' 

"  '  It  is  the  sighing  of  the  waves  in  the  narrow  fissures  of 
the  rock,  my  sweet  Genossa.' 

"  '  Listen,  listen,  Spountus !  my  mother  speaks  from  under 
the  consecrated  earth  ! ' 

"  *  What  says  she,  then,  from  under  the  consecrated  earth, 
Genossa?' 

"  '  She  says  that  her  daughter  is  not  to  give  herself  up  body 
and  soul  without  the  show  of  consecrated  altar-lights,  and 
without  the  priest's  holy  chants.' 

"  '  Be  it,  then,  as  she  wishes,  Genossa,  my  beloved ;  I  honour 
the  dead!' 

"  Then  the  handsome  stranger  made  a  sign,  and  suddenly 
there  rose  out  of  the  darkness  priest  and  choristers,  and  sur- 
rounded the  rock  that  rises  in  the  little  island  in  the  midst  of 
the  grotto.  They  covered  the  rock  with  a  cloth  of  scarlet 
silk  embroidered  in  silver,  and  kindled  around  it  tall  wax 
lights  in  golden  candlesticks.  The  marriage  ceremony  began. 
But  at  the  moment  when  the  priest  spoke  the  blessing,  and 
placed  the  ring  upon  her  finger,  Genossa  screamed  aloud  till 
the  whole  grotto  rang  with  the  sound.  The  ring  burnt  her 
finger  like  fire.  She  tried  to  tear  herself  away — to  fly,  but  it 
was  too  late  !  Spountus  seized  her  arm,  and  forced  her  to 
follow  him  through  long,  endlessly  long  and  dismal  passages. 

*  Spountus,  the  Teiriblo,  is  one  of  iba  n&mss  ^ven  to  the  Evil  Spirit  by  tbe  Aimorican 

cats. 


THE  VIRGIN  3  GOD-CHILD.  289 

Her  heart  died  within  her,  and,  trembling  and  son-owful,  she 
leaned  on  the  one  who  had  become  master  of  her  soul  and 
body. 

"  '  Listen,  Spountus,'  whispered  she,  '  does  it  not  seem  as 
if  all  around  us — here,  there,  and  everywhere — there  came 
the  sounds  of  weeping  and  wailing  and  gnashing  of  teeth  ?' 

"  '  It  is  nothing,  Genossa,  my  sweet  soul,  but  the  workmen 
who  are  boring  the  rock  above  us,  and  singing  their  songs  the 
while.' 

" '  Seems  it  not,  Spountus,  as  though  bitter  tears  were  trick- 
ling on  us  down  the  rocks  ? ' 

" '  It  is  only  the  water  of  the  springs  that  oozes  through 
the  rock,  Genossa,  my  sweet  soul.' 

"  '  Lord  of  my  life,  the  air  that  surrounds  us  is  like  the 
breath  of  a  furnace  ! ' 

"  '  Genossa,  joy  of  my  heart,  look  there  !  Fire,  lire,  every- 
where fire !  this  is  hell,  heathen  maiden,  and  thou  art  mine 
forever!'" 

This  is  the  Querz  of  Genossa,  which  must  of  course  lose  in- 
describably by  translation,  and  by  the  absence  of  all  the  cir- 
cumstances under  which  I  heard  it. 

We  rowed  once  more  in  silence  round  the  devil's  altar,  and 
by  way  of  dispelling  the  oppressive  and  shuddering  mood  into 
which  the  old  song  had  unconsciously  plunged  me,  I  inquired 
whether  Spountus  were  still  occasionally  to  be  seen  in  the 
grotto.  The  fisherman  did  not  answer  at  once,  but  first  with 
a  couple  of  powerful  oar-strokes  made  the  boat  shoot  out 
through  the  entrance  of  the  grotto  into  the  clear  daylight  and 
the  free  expanse  of  sea.     Then  he  said — 

"The  gentleman  ought  to  have  asked  old  Judock  that 
question — he  knows  its  answer." 

As  it  was  evident  that  my  companion  had  no  pleasure  in 
telling  either  what  he  knew  or  what  he  thought  upon  this  sub- 


290  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

ject,  and  as,  moreover,  we  were  suddenly  surrounded  by  a 
thick  fog,  occasioning  all  manner  of  optical  illusions,  and  re- 
quiring his  whole  attention  to  be  given  to  the  management  of 
the  boat,  we  both  continued  silent.  But  after  about  a  quarter 
of  an  hour,  when  a  fresh  wind  rose  and  drove  away  the  fog, 
Salaun  suddenly  touched  me  on  the  shoulder,  exclaiming — 

**  Look  there ! — Judock's  hut  is  on  fire  I" 

On  looking  round,  I  remarked  a  ruddy  light  on  the  Eavens' 
Cliff,  which  was  scarcely  distinguished  from  the  rosy  glow  still 
thrown  by  the  setting  sun  upon  the  higher  rocks.  It  was 
only  at  intervals  that  a  brighter  flame  leapt  up.  Agreeably 
to  my  wish,  Salaun  steered  our  boat  to  the  spot ;  curiosity,  or 
the  wish  to  assist,  overcoming  the  repugnance  which  he  had 
previously  shown  to  the  Eavens'  Cliff  and  to  its  owner. 

As  we  drew  near,  we  saw  a  number  of  men  busily  engaged 
about  the  fire,  while  numbers  more  were  hurrying  towards  it 
in  every  direction.  Having  landed,  we  soon  found  out  that, 
as  is  generally  the  case  on  such  occasions,  the  greatest  part  of 
them,  by  screams  and  useless  gestures,  impeded  the  assistance 
that  might  yet  have  been  afforded.  A  few  only  were  occupied 
with  the  door,  which,  however,  they  had  vainly  tried  to  break 
open  with  the  half  of  a  fir-tree  stem  torn  off  the  roof,  while 
the  fire  appeared  to  be  devouring  slowly  the  inside  of  the  hut, 
which  had  no  vent  or  opening  of  any  kind.  On  approaching 
nearer,  a  loud  groaning  and  whining  was  distinctly  heard  with- 
in. We  listened  for  a  moment ;  another  voice  arose,  a  sharp, 
mocking  tone,  which  at  last  broke  out  into  a  yell  of  fiendish 
laughter.  Then  hard  blows  were  repeatedly  given — then 
again  the  same  wailing  and  whimpering,  the  same  mocking 
rejoinder. 

Salaun  and  the  remainder  drew  back  in  horror,  and  a  few 
words  spoken  half  aloud  showed  that  they  were  in  no  doubt 
as  to  whom  the  old  villain  had  to  deal  with,  and  that,  in 


THE  virgin's  GOD-CUILD.  291 

their  opinion,  no  human  help  could  avail  to  deliver  him  from 
the  grasp  of  the  spirits  whom  he  had  served  all  his  life  long. 

It  was  in  vain  that  I  requested  Salaun  to  join  me  in  an 
attempt  to  break  open  the  door. 

"  This  fire  is  not  kindled  by  mortal  hands,  and  we  poor 
sinners  can  never  put  it  out." 

"  The  Church  will  put  it  out,  then,"  here  interfered  a  deep, 
well-toned  voice. 

It  was  that  of  a  priest  who  had  joined  us.  All  surrounded 
him,  taking  off  their  hats  with  much  respect,  while  I  in  a  few 
words  explained  the  state  of  things.  Though  advanced  in 
years,  he  was  still  strong  and  active  in  mind  and  body.  We 
understood  each  other  instantly.  While  he  sent  a  messenger 
to  fetch  an  axe  from  the  nearest  village,  and  gave  some  other 
judicious  orders,  which  the  people  unhesitatingly  obeyed,  I 
climbed  to  the  top  of  the  rock  into  whose  fissures  the  hut  was 
squeezed,  that  I  might  thence  try  to  find  out  whether  it  had 
any  other  opening  or  not. 

I  was,  however,  unable  to  discover  anything  of  the  kind, 
and  was  therefore  about  to  descend,  when  I  saw  a  dark  figure 
glide  behind  some  low  bushes  at  a  little  distance,  but  the  very 
same  moment  it  vanished  behind  the  next  projection  of  rock. 
It  had  already  become  too  dark,  and  the  apparition  was  too 
sudden  and  momentary,  for  me  to  have  any  distinct  impression 
as  to  its  form  or  features. 

At  first,  I  felt  half  inclined  to  pursue  it,  but  after  two  or 
three  onward  steps,  I  felt  convinced  that  to  do  so  along  such 
a  road  as  this,  over  such  masses  of  rocks,  such  crevices,  and 
through  such  brushwood,  would  be  not  only  vain,  but  danger- 
ous. At  the  same  time,  too,  the  strokes  of  the  axe  upon  the 
door  announced  that  the  chief  point — that  of  forcing  an  en- 
trance into  the  hut,  would  soon  be  gained,  and  I  therefore 
rapidly  made  ray  way  down  again. 


292  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

Just  as  I  arrived,  the  door  gave  way,  A  stream  of  flame, 
clouds  of  smoke,  and  sparks  rushed  out,  and  scared  the  by- 
standers away  ;  but  the  fury  of  the  fire  was  already  spent,  and 
in  a  few  moments  the  priest  was  able  to  enter,  followed  by 
Salaun  and  myself.  The  others  remained  standing  outside, 
partly  out  of  respect  to  the  injunctions  of  the  priest,  partly 
through  terror  of  the  thing's  that  might  have  to  be  encountered 
within. 

The  first  sight  that  met  our  eyes  was  Judock  lying  upon 
the  hearth  in  a  pool  of  blood.  He  was  still  alive,  and  we 
instantly  carried,  him  out  into  the  open  air ;  and  at  the  ear- 
nest entreaty  of  the  priest,  the  barber  of  the  neighbouring 
village,  who,  like  the  many  others,  found  himself  on  the  spot, 
undertook  to  examine,  and,  as  far  as  he  was  able,  to  treat 
the  severely-wounded  man.  At  the  same  time,  all  that  could 
be  done,  was  done  to  save  the  hut.  It  was  found  that  all 
that  was  combustible  was  already  consumed,  and  the  glowing 
embers  were  easily  quenched.  No  trace  was  found  of  the  per- 
petrator, or  of  the  cause  of  the  crime,  except,  indeed,  a  mat- 
tock, which  had  evidently  served  to  raise  the  hearthstone,  and 
to  dig  under  it. 

That  this  calamity  was  not  accidental,  we  none  of  us  had 
any  doubt;  and  as  I,  in  company  with  the  priest,  again 
approached  the  late  possessor  of  the  hut,  the  surgeon,  as  he 
called  himself,  showed  us  a  deep  wound  in  the  breast,  and  a 
considerable  dint  in  the  head  of  the  old  Kakous,  which  could 
only  have  been  dealt  by  a  murderer's  hand. 

It  was  quite  plain  that  no  recovery  was  to  be  looked  for. 
Before  we  found  the  old  man,  he  had  bled  almost  to  death, 
and  seemed  to  have  already  entirely  lost  consciousness.  But 
after  a  few  minutes,  he  came  to  himself  a  little,  moved  his 
lips,  opened  his  eyes,  and  tried,  with  the  convulsive  energy  of 
<!■  dying  effort,  to  shape  his  loud  groans  into  intelligible  words. 


TIIK  VIRGIN  S  GOD-CHILD.  293 

If  his  appearance  had  been  repulsive  in  life,  it  was  now  almost 
insufferably  horrible.  At  length,  he  was  able  to  make  it  un- 
derstood that  he  wished  to  confess.  The  bystanders  seemed 
to  look  upon  such  ;i  request  not  only  with  wonder,  but  dis- 
pleasure, as  involving  unheard-of  presumption,  and  actual 
desecration  of  the  rite.  But  the  priest  knelt  down  at  once  by 
the  head  of  the  dying  man,  and  at  a  sign  from  him,  the  people 
reverentially  retired,  the  greatest  part  evincing  their  sympathy 
with  the  solemn  occasion  by  kneeling  also,  with  heads  un- 
covered, and  hands  folded  in  silent  prayer. 

The  moon  had  by  this  time  risen,  and  spread  a  mild,  peace- 
ful light  on  the  shore,  the  rocks,  and  the  sea,  whose  low  mur- 
mur the  solemn  stillness  of  the  men,  so  loud  a  few  minutes 
before,  rendered  more  impressive.  The  silence  was  only 
broken  every  now  and  then  by  the  increasingly  painful  groans 
of  the  dying  man,  or  by  an  outburst  of  sparks,  as  some  rem- 
nants of  the  wood -work  within  the  hul,  or  rather  the  cleft 
that  it  formerly  occupied,  fell  in. 

After  a  few  minutes,  the  priest  beckoned  me  to  approach. 
He  had,  according  to  his  apprehension  of  the  duties  of  his 
calling,  endeavoured,  before  all  things,  to  awaken  the  feeble 
consciousness  of  the  expiring  sinner  to  the  necessity  of  pre- 
paring for  death  after  the  manner  of  the  Catholic  Church,  as 
far  as  it  was  possible  to  do  so  under  such  circumstances.  But 
when  this  was  over,  he  was  anxious  to  make  an  attempt  to 
elicit  some  words  which  might  lead  to  the  discovery  of  the 
murderer ;  and  it  was  with  this  view  that  he  wished  to  have 
me  both  as  assistant  and  witness — and  also  called  old  Sa- 
lann. 

The  dying  man's  words  were  for  the  most  part  incoherent, 
and  spoken  in  an  unintelligible  voice  j  but,  however,  such  as 
they  were,  they  tended  to  confirm  a  suspicion  that  had  already 
crossed  my  mind,  and  led  me  to  connect  the  mysterious  pre- 


294  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDEE. 

sence  in  the  hut,  of  the  youth  called  Bauzec,  on  the  occa- 
sion of  my  first  visit,  with  the  apparition  I  had  just  witnessed 
on  the  rocks  above.  In  the  muid  of  the  dying  man,  shaken 
as  it  Avas  by  the  death-struggle,  and  the  terrors  of  conscience, 
the  same  opinion  evidently  often  obtained  respecting  the  per- 
sonality of  his  murderer,  which  the  people  are  wont  to  offer  in 
connexion  with  the  most  varied  circumstances,  namely,  that 
the  Evil  One  had  surprised  him  counting  his  ill- won  wealth, 
and  asserted  his  own  claim  to  it. 

But  every  now  and  then  the  recollection  of  the  true  state  of 
the  case  would  pierce  through,  as  be  repeated — 

"The  Vermin!  the  Black!  the  Vermin!"  over  and  over 
again,  with  such  rage  and  abhorrence,  that  his  energies  seemed 
more  and  more  exhausted  by  each  repetition  of  the  words,  and 
at  last  he  died  in  pronouncing  them. 

It  was  to  me  a  very  significant  fact,  that  Judock  should,  in 
his  wanderings,  use  many  common  English  phrases,  which 
rendered  it  beyond  a  doubt  that  he  had  carried  on  treasonable 
communications  with  the  enemy  during  the  war,  and  it  was 
with  these  that  "the  criminal  prosecutions  already  referred  to 
were  connected. 

The  priest  and  Salaun  shared  my  conviction.  But  when  I 
exclaimed  with  horror — 

"  The  son  the  murderer  of  the  father  !"  the  fisherman  re- 
joined— 

"  It  is  bad  enough  as  it  is,  but  Bauzec  the  Black  is  not  the 
son  of  Judock  Shipwreck.  I  myself  saw  him  draw  the  fellow 
with  his  hook  out  of  the  hen-coop  of  a  ship  that  had  gone  to 
pieces.  He  knew  best  what  wind  had  driven  it  upon  the 
Ravens'  Cliff.  And  then  the  little  black  imp  sat  upon  the 
coop,  and  was  scarcely  on  shore  before  he  shook  off  the  water 
like  a  poodle,  and  danced  and  screamed,  so  that  it  was  awful 
to  sea  him.    But  as  he  had  been  almost  drowned,  the  country 


THE  virgin's  god-cuild.  295 

people  called  him  '  Bauzec,'  which  means  in  the  gentleman's 
language,  '  the  drowned  one.'  " 

"  Judock,  then,  adopted  him  as  a  son?"  asked  I.  "  That 
is  more  than  I  should  have  believed  of  him." 

"  That  was  not  the  case  either,"  replied  Salaun,  "  but  just 
the  contrary.  The  boy  hung  upon  the  old  man  like  a  chain ; 
hooked  himself  to  him  like  a  kitten.  He  could  neither  be 
shaken  oif  nor  driven  away  by  blows,  kicks,  or  hunger — he 
always  returned.  If  Judock  had  flung  him  out  at  night, 
and  driven  him  far  away  across  the  downs,  believing  that  he 
would  not  find  his  way  back ;  when  morning  came,  there  he 
was  again  cowering  at  the  door.  But  you  are  not  to  suppose 
that  gratitude  or  attachment  had  anything  to  do  with  this. 
On  the  contrary,  from  the  very  first  he  took  to  playing  all 
manner  of  tricks  upon  the  old  man  ;  and  if  he  ever  failed  to 
get  out  of  the  way  of  blows  with  cat-like  expertness,  and 
chanced  to  be  caught,  which  was  rare,  he  would  bite  and 
scratch  like  a  young  wild  beast.  It  really  seemed  as  though 
be  were  an  evil  spirit,  and  had  a  hold  over  the  old  sinner's 
soul.  At  all  events,  he  was  obliged  to  tolerate  what  he  could 
not  avoid.  For,  you  see,  he  was  grown  old  and  feeble,  and 
had  besides,  a  horror  of  the  lad,  whom  he  never  called  by  any 
other  name  than  the  *  vermin  ; '  or  else  what  could  have  pre- 
vented him  from  tying  a  stone  about  his  neck  and  throwing 
him  into  the  sea  ?  Certainly  it  was  not  conscience  or  tender- 
heartedness, for" — 

Here  Salaun  interrupted  himself. 

'*  The  Kakous  is  now  dead,  and  has  to  give  an  account  of 
himself  elsewhere,  and  so  I  will  say  no  more  about  him.  We 
poor  folk  about  here  have  never  doubted  that  Bauzec  was 
given  to  Judock  Shipwreck  as  a  plague  and  a  punishment — 
whether  man  or  devil,  it's  all  one." 

Meanwhile  the  corpse  had  been  carried  into  the  burnt-oat 


296  BKITTANY  AND  LA  VENDf  E. 

hut,  and  a  watch  over  it  appointed  for  tlie  night.  We 
at  length  contrived,  by  tlie  light  of  the  tapers  brought,  to 
discover  a  narrow  opening  at  the  end  of  the  fissure,  which 
wound  up  to  the  top  of  the  cliff,  and  opened  out  amidst 
the  brushwood  there.  This  might  possibly  have  afforded  an 
inlet  to  a  slender  and  active  youth.  But  how  it  happened 
that  the  builder  and  owner  of  the  hut  should  not  have  been 
aware  of  this  way  of  entrance,  or  how,  on  the  other  hand,  he 
should  not  have  stopped  it  up,  fearing  that  liis  good-for- 
uothing  comrade  might  learn  to  make  use  of  it  without  his 
leave,  and  probably  to  his  hurt,  this  certainly  did  remain  a 
mystery  to  lis. 

Midnight  was  already  past  before  the  country  people  dis- 
persed, and  I  again  took  my  place  in  the  boat,  to  be  rowed 
by  the  old  fisherman  to  his  own  dwelling.  We  were  both 
silent,  meditating,  no  doubt,  upon  what  we  had  just  witnessed. 
We  now  approached  the  little  bay  in  which  Salaun's  cottage 
stood,  and  by  the  unsteady  and  changing  light  of  the  clouded 
moon  were  already  able  to  distinguish  it,  when  we  heard  a 
loud  cry  for  help  proceeding  thence.  The  next  moment,  two 
figures  rushed  out  on  the  shore,  and  struggled  violently — or 
rather,  one  struggled  to  overpower  the  other,  who  endeavoured 
to  escape,  and  cried  more  and  more  loudly  for  help. 

"God  bs  with  me!"  exclaimed  Salaun  at  the  first  scream 
heard,  "  it  is  Dinorah's  voice ! " 

And  straining  his  strength  to  the  utmost,  he  made  the  little 
boat  bound  to  the  point  where  we  saw  the  two  forms,  while 
we  both  announced  the  approach  of  help,  and  endeavoured  to 
frighten  away  the  assailant  by  raising  our  voices  to  their 
utmost  pitch.  But  owing  to  the  murmurs  of  the  waves  upon 
the  beach,  and  to  the  excitement  of  the  parties  concerned, 
they  did  not  observe  us  till  we  were  but  a  few  yards  from  the 
shore,  when  we  plainly  distinguished  not  only  Dinorah,  but 


THE  virgin's  god-child.  297 

also  the  aggressor,  who  was  no  other  than  Bauzec  the  Black. 
We  further  obsei-ved  that  the  young  girl's  strength  was  nearly 
exhausted.  Dinorah  was  the  first  to  perceive  us.  At  once 
she  tore  herself  out  of  her  assailant's  grasp,  and  rushed 
towards  us  into  the  sea. 

Her  father  had  hardly  time  to  check  the  boat's  speed,  so 
as  to  prevent  a  collision,  when,  breathless,  exhausted,  with 
torn  garment  and  streaming  hair,  she  clasped  the  boat's  prow, 
and  was  lifted  into  it  and  carried  to  shore  in  an  unconscious 
state.  Meanwhile,  Bauzec  had  vanished ;  and  it  would  have 
been  in  vain  to  have  pursued  him,  had  we  not,  besides,  been 
fully  occupied  with  the  poor  girl. 

Thanks  to  her  thoroughly  healthy  nature,  she  soon  came 
round,  and  told  us — but  not  without  a  certain  reserve,  and 
an  evident  endeavour  to  criminate  the  ruflSan  as  little  as  pos- 
sible— that  Bauzec  had,  about  half  an  hour  before,  in  great 
haste  and  excitement,  joined  her  on  the  shore,  whither  she 
had  gone  to  look  for  us.  He  had  told  her,  in  the  strangest 
and  wildest  way  possible,  that  he  must  leave  the  country 
forthwith,  aud  that  she  must  accompany  him.  Upon  her 
refusal,  he  at  first  tried  every  means  of  persuasion,  and  showed 
her  his  hands  full  of  gold.  But  when  she  remained  firm, 
and  again  hastened  out  of  the  cottage,  whither  he  had  fol- 
lowed her,  and  rushed  to  the  shore,  he  tried  to  carry  her 
away  by  force. 

"  And  then  I  cried  once  more  out  of  my  inmost  soul  to  my 
heavenly  god-mother,  and  you  came,  father!"  said  the  girl  in 
conclusion.  And  the  joy  that  beamed  over  her  features  at 
the  miraculous  help  which  she  fully  believed  to  have  been 
afforded  her,  banished  every  trace  of  her  previous  terror. 

Soon,  however,  on  learning  from  us  what  had  happened  at 
the  Ravens'  Cliff,  and  recognising,  as  we  did  also,  in  her  late 
experience  a  confirmation  of  the  blood-guiltiness  of  her  wild 


298  lUUTTANY  AND  LA  VEND]5e. 

lover,  she  was  seized  with  a  profound  and  peculiar  emotion. 
She  became  pale  as  death,  trembled  in  every  limb,  and  threw 
herself  upon  her  knees,  where  she  long  remained  in  fervent 
prayer. 

Could  the  miller,  Guiller,  have  had  some  grounds,  then,  for 
rallying  her  about  this  wild,  repulsive,  wicked  youth?  What 
relations  could  there  possibly  be  between  him  and  this  pure 
and  maidenly  creature  ?  A  few  words,  however,  exchanged 
upon  a  later  occasion  with  the  priest  whose  acquaintance  I 
had  made  at  Eavens'  Cliff,  afforded  me  the  only  explanation 
conceivable.  Her  feeling  was  a  complex  one,  consisting  in 
part,  of  womanly  compassion  for  one  whom  all  the  world,  and 
perhaps  with  good  cause,  avoided  ;  in  part,  of  a  certain  dread 
of  the  youth's  savage  strength,  not  entirely  free,  it  might  be, 
from  a  germ  of  unconscious  admiration  of  it ;  in  part,  of 
blended  piety  and  vanity,  sucb  as  one  often  meets  with  in 
more  refined  society.  She  had  believed  herself  elected,  by 
the  assistance  and  to  the  glory  of  her  heavenly  sponsor,  to 
convert  this  poor  benighted  soul. 

And  upon  Bauzec's  part,  joined  to  the  impulse  of  passions 
early  wakened,  there  was  doubtless  a  better  and  deeper  im- 
pression made  by  the  maidenly  gentleness  and  purity  of 
Dinorah.  Wild  and  scornful  as  he  was  to  all  besides,  and  in 
outward  appearance  to  her  also,  it  is  certain  that  she  had 
obtained  a  degree  of  influence  over  him,  which  she,  in  her 
half-childish  way,  took  pleasure  in  displaying. 

All  this,  as  I  have  already  said,  I  only  found  out  later. 
At  the  period  of  which  I  treat,  I  contented  myself  with  leav- 
ing the  father  and  daughter  together,  and  betaking  myself  to 
rest  in  the  fragrant  hay-loft  under  the  roof,  which  was  the 
room  assigned  to  me. 

When  I  awoke  the  following  morning,  the  sun  was  already 
high  in  the  heavens :  nothing  seemed  stirring  in  the  house, 


THE  vikgin's  god-ciuld.  299 

or  round  about  it.  I  only  heard  the  monotonous  breaking  of 
the  waves  upon  the  shore,  and  the  twittering  of  birds  between. 
I  found  the  little  room  below  in  the  best  order  possible,  and 
even  my  clean  and  simple  breakfast  ready  provided ;  but 
Salaun  and  his  daughter  were  nowhere  to  be  seen. 

I  knew  too  well  the  rights  with  which  the  inhabitants  of 
Brittany  invest  the  stranger — whom  they  designate  as  the 
sent  of  God — not  to  avail  myself,  even  in  the  absence  of  the 
host,  of  the  hospitality  of  which  I  stood  so  sorely  in  need. 
But  before  setting  out,  I  laid  down  a  gold  piece  upon  the 
table,  which  I  could  hardly  have  got  old  Salaun  to  accept 
had  he  been  at  home. 

I  took  the  way  to  Crozon,  and  had  not  proceeded  far  before 
I  heard  in  the  distance  a  solemn  chant,  which  drew  nearer 
and  nearer  to  where  I  was.  On  account  of  the  very  high 
hedges  which  shut  in  the  road,  I  was  unable  as  yet  to  see  any 
of  the  singers,  even  though  I  could  distinctly  hear  the  words  of 
their  song.  A  peasant  who  came  from  Crozon  informed  me, 
however,  that  it  was  a  procession,  undertaken  by  all  the  ad- 
jacent parishes  on  account  of  the  long-continued  drought,  and 
that  it  was  marching  around  the  fields,  chanting,  and  offering 
up  prayers  for  rain. 

From  a  little  hillock  on  the  roadside  which  I  ascended,  I 
succeeded  in  seeing  the  procession,  which  soon,  however,  defiled 
along  a  cross-way,  and  came  into  the  road.  First  came  the 
priest,  then  the  men,  two  and  two ;  afterwards  the  women,  in 
their  picturesque  Sunday  costume,  but  with  grave  bearing, 
and  absorbed  in  deep  devotion. 

In  the  pauses  of  the  chant,  which  were  devoted  to  prayer, 
nothing  was  to  be  heard  but  the  humming  of  insects  and  the 
chirping  of  birds. 

One  of  these  pauses  was  suddenly  interrupted  by  a  noise, 
which  proceeded  from  the  direction  in  which  I  had  come.     It 


300  BRITTANY  AND  LA  VENDUE. 

was  made  by  the  rolling  and  rattling  of  a  vehicle  of  some 
kind ;  and  soon  we  could  see  in  the  lane  behind  us  a  cart, 
surrounded  by  armed  custom-house  officers,  as  well  as  by  some 
fishers  and  peasants.  The  procession  drew  to  one  side  to  let 
them  pass. 

As  the  cart  approached,  we  observed  that  three  men  were 
sitting  upon  the  same  seat,  and  that  the  one  in  the  middle 
was  chained,  the  other  two  evidently  guarding  him.  Soon 
the  name  "  Bauzec  the  Black,"  which,  spoken  low,  went  from 
one  to  the  other  throughout  the  procession,  left  no  doubt  upon 
my  mind  that  it  was  the  murderer  on  his  v/ay  to  prison.  In- 
deed he  himself  took  good  care  to  give  me  every  opportunity 
of  recognising  him ;  for  scarcely  had  the  cart  come  up  with 
the  procession,  than  he  raised  himself  from  the  stooping  atti- 
tude he  had  before  maintained,  looked  around  him  with  the 
greatest  audacity,  and  called  out,  to  such  as  he  was  acquainted 
with,  words  of  jesting  or  abuse,  so  that  the  good  people  seemed 
at  first  quite  petrified  by  his  profligacy.  However,  when  the 
universal  horror  and  displeasure  had  found  a  vent  in  ejacula- 
tions and  execrations,  he  seemed  to  take  even  increased 
delight  in  his  own  lawless  conduct,  and  was  not  to  be  con- 
trolled by  his  companions. 

But  in  the  midst  of  his  most  daring  defiance,  he  suddenly 
uttered  a  cry  of  mingled  rage  and  anguish ;  and  after  one 
violent  effort  to  break  his  chains,  suddenly  sank  down  power- 
less, with  his  head  bowed  on  his  breast  and  his  eyes  closed. 

The  reason  of  this  transformation  was  soon  evident  to  me. 
The  cart  had  passed  the  men,  and  reached  the  part  of  the 
procession  formed  by  the  women.  There  stood  Dinorah,  pale 
as  a  corpse,  her  little  hands  convulsively  clasped,  her  lips 
quivering,  but  with  a  look  of  the  deepest  sorrow  in  her  eyes, 
as  she  fixed  them  upon  the  lost  being  before  her.  When  this 
look  met  his,  all  his  wild  audacity  was  at  once  at  an  end. 


THE  virgin's  god-child.  301 

The  procession  again  put  itself,  singing,  into  motion,  and 
was  soon  lost  in  a  byway  behind  the  bushes ;  while  the  cart 
with  the  prisoner  went  on  its  way  to  Crozon,  where  I  arrived 
soon  after  it,  but  was  not  able  to  remain.  After  a  while,  the 
newspapers  gave  me  an  account  of  Bauzec's  execution. 

Many  years  afterwards,  on  visiting  a  friend  at  Brest  who 
occupied  a  position  in  its  largest  hospital,  I  recognised  in  one 
of  the  Sceurs  grises,  to  whom  the  care  of  its  sick  was  intrusted, 
the  Virgin's  god-daughter,  Dinorah. 


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